


Of Honeybees and Redheads

by RadBoi



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Angst, ChloexNath, F/M, Fluff, Lemato, Mostly Lemato though, NathxChlo, Queen Bee and Le Paon, Some mentions of Alya and Nino, Whatever you want to call it really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2018-10-12 00:19:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10477824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RadBoi/pseuds/RadBoi
Summary: Chloé Bourgeois, Super Hero of Paris. She's defeated Akumas, She's saved lives. She's a national icon! But what's keeping her up at night? Dreams involving a certain redheaded artist that just don't seem to go away. Are these dreams nothing more than silly illusions, or does her fate lie in a seemingly impossible romance? (Sorry, not good at making a summary)





	1. Unfortunate Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Slavic Hero here, and this is my first fanfiction. I’m currently obsessed with the NathanaëlxChloé Pairing, to which fellow enthusiasts have dubbed “lemato.” But if you ask me, there isn’t nearly as much of this pairing as there should be, so I might as well throw my hat into the ring. Here ya go you savages.
> 
> Comments and Critiques are welcome!

_No actual explicit stuff in this story. It gets close, dangerously close, but trust me, it’s all good. There is some casual swearing, though._

  
**Chapter 1**  


“Looks like someone’s been a naughty girl…”

 

Chloé shivered at the delicate whispers that made her spine tingle with excitement. She was laying back on her bed, her hands tied above her head in a soft, yet unbelievably strong fabric. All she wore was a loose pair of pajama pants and a soft old t shirt that was riding up her back, giving her an exposed midriff. Her hair was loose and sprawled across her pillow. Only the moon from the dark midnight sky was providing any light into her bedroom.

 

A white gloved hand was gently caressing her soft golden strands of hair, while the other was moving alarmly close into her pants. It tickled past her stomach, causing her breathing to quicken. The figure above her was impossibly close. She could feel the warm breath from his pale purple lips. Despite the darkness of the night, his turquoise eyes still managed to burrow into her heart. Had her hands not been currently restrained, she probably would have found them running through his messy orange locks.

 

Despite this, she desperately tried to hold onto intimidation, “When Queen Bee finds out, she’s gonna-,” She gasped.

 

He had leaned over to her neck and had softly kissed the sensitive flesh right by her collar bone. He grinned into her skin as her breathing became heavier and erratic. Chloé was desperately trying to maintain some sort of control, but it was a lost cause. Without warning, he softly bit onto her neck. This time, Chloé moaned. He sucked against the sensitive skin, wanting more of the blonde’s moaning. The pleasure tingling through her brain made her body struggle and contort against his strong hold. Her hips bucked against his.

 

Chloé’s brain was short circuiting. She should be calling out for Ladybug. She should be wishing for Chat Noir to bust in her bedroom any second. But she didn’t. Instead, she was giving into the pleasure of this deranged artist. And she didn’t want it to stop. She only wanted more.

 

“...O-oh... N-Nathanaël…”

 

He stopped and leaned back from her neck, admiring his handiwork. A pink love bite on Chloé’s neck was now visible for all to see. He crawled further down on the bed, his lips leaving soft kisses across Chloé’s stomach. His hand played with the hem of her pants, ever so slowly pulling it down, exposing more and more of her hips.

 

Her breathing stopped all together as she felt his warm breath against her thighs. He looked up at her, with a devilish grin, “Hey Chloé… wake up.”

 

“Huh?”

 

**< >**

 

“...wake up... c’mon Chloé!”

 

“...mmmm... noooo..” She groaned at the invasive loud noise that startled her from sleep. Not only was there an alarm clock that was so loud, it may as well be a city wide siren for all of Paris, but she had an annoying yellow creature yelling right into her ear. She just wanted to burrow further into the warm white sheets and retreat back to dreamland.

 

“Get up, Chloé!”

 

“...five more minutes…”

 

“Chloé! You’re going to be late! What’s your father going to say?”

 

The blonde grumbled at her Kwami’s common sense. Tiredly, she pulled herself out of her blanket cocoon and slammed her fist down on the alarm clock. Without the deafening chirping, she was able to hear the soft pitter patter of raindrops. She looked to her window. Sure enough, the sky was a depressing shade of grey, and a soft drizzle was coming down. She didn’t mind the rain. In fact, she sometimes enjoyed it. It made her feel comfortable and relaxed, something that was desperately needed in the fast-paced political campaign that was her home life. But she wasn’t all too thrilled about walking to school in it.

 

Chloé’s father was off in Spain meeting with some important people. Who were they and why was he there? She had no idea, nor did she care all that much. As for the rest of the staff at Le Grand Paris, well that was mostly on her. Being the responsible High School Senior that she was, she had gotten into the habit of being more... “self reliant.” She would make her own lunches, she would buy her own clothes, she would clean her own room, et cetera, et cetera. She was also even looking at getting her own apartment for when she would move out for college. Her dad had more time to work, the Staff at the Hotel could focus on their work, and she was prepared for independent adulthood. Everybody wins.

 

This brand new Chloé also walked to school herself, even on rainy days. This wouldn’t be much of an issue if she actually had an umbrella. The last Akuma attack had happened about a week ago and was also in the rain. Chloé had been walking home, as usual, when a lightning themed Akuma decided to take his rage out on the pedestrians who just happened to near Le Grand Paris, Chloé and her umbrella included. Long story short, she nearly burned her hand and had dropped it into the river. The good news was that her burned up umbrella was repaired by Ladybug’s miraculous. The bad news was that it was still at the bottom of the Seine.

 

Chloé stood unmoving in her hot shower, wishing for a better, less stressful Friday. The last thing she needed was to be embarrassed by showing up to school drenched. She rested her forehead against the ceramic walls, warm water running down her back, her thoughts still focused on a certain red head.

 

“You were moaning in your sleep again.”

 

Chloé, in her white fluffy bathrobe, continued on combing through her wet messy hair, unphased.

 

“It was with the redhead again, wasn’t it?”

 

She said nothing.

 

Her Kwami let out an exaggerated sigh, “Why haven’t you asked him out yet?”

 

Chloé shot an angry glare at the annoying bee, “For the last time, I do not have a crush on him, okay? Just drop it.”

 

The first dream she had about Nathanaël had been months ago, during Christmas. It was a throwaway dirty dream between her and the Evillustrator. At the time, she had dismissed it as nothing more than her hormonal teenage brain trying to make a mockery of her dignity. He was handsome, definitely. Thanks to that stupid recent growth spurt of his, and the way he began to cut his hair so that it was just short enough to see his face, even if he sometimes has to brush it out of his eyes.

 

Chloé kept telling herself, religiously, that it was just a physical attraction. As far as she knew, they would probably hate each other in a  relationship. So he was nothing more than a fairly attractive classmate, and she would soon forget all about every dream with him. Of course, the dreams didn’t stop. If anything, they got worse.

 

The yellow Kwami floated obnoxiously in her face, “I bet a sexy rich girl asking him out would be the highlight of his life, especially for a looser like him.”

 

Chloé growled.

 

“I mean, have you seen that greasy red mop on his head?”

 

Okay, she had enough. Chloé, quite childishly, stuck a finger right in her Kwami's face, “He is not a loser! He is sweet, he is kind! If he asked me out, that would be the highlight of _my_ life. And also, his hair is not a greasy mop!”

 

The little bee grinned devilishly, “When’s the wedding?”

 

“I- you-uhhgh... shut up!”

 

With a quiet chuckle, the Kwami zoomed out of the bathroom, leaving her chosen alone with her thoughts.

 

Chloé groaned. What a mental case she was. She walked out of her steamy bathroom, feeling a chill in the air. Her Kwami had already shown it’s own self hypocrisy by going back to sleep herself. The little bee was curled tightly in a ball deep within her school bag, something Chloé wished she could do on a rainy day like this.

 

**< >**

 

The walk to school wasn’t too bad. The rain seemed to be calming down while the temperature was just cool enough to wear her favorite teal sweatshirt. The lazy bee that was Chloé’s Kwami was residing peacefully inside her bag, most likely still asleep.

 

The small puddles that formed along the sidewalk splashed quietly under her footsteps. The distant sound of birds chirping echoed through the streets. The smells of nearby bakery filled her nostrils. It was a pleasant morning.

 

Rain aside, Chloé enjoyed the short walk to School. The crisp spring air felt nice, especially considering the long frozen winter Paris had gone through months earlier.

 

While waiting by herself at a crosswalk, Chloé’s phone vibrated.

 

**_Ladyblog Update: Akuma spotted by Françoise Dupont_ **

 

Uh oh. Now this was bad.

 

A loud crash made her jump. She turned towards the school and sure enough, a brightly colored super villain had crashed through a storefront window riding on a black motorcycle. Broken glass and chunks of brick lay scattered across the road. The few people standing around early in the morning bolted away, screaming. He wore a dark black jacket that flowed with currents of neon magenta lights. On his head was a black motorcycle helmet that had a purple gleam to it.

 

As he drove, sparks of purple energy shot around him, burning through the asphalt road. He looked at Chloé, the only pedestrian left on the street, “I don’t believe it…” He growled in disbelief, “Well if it isn’t Chloé Bourgeois. Don’t you remember me?”

  
This had officially gone from bad to worse. If there was one thing Chloé ever wanted to do, it was to go back in time to throttle her old stupid self. She didn’t remember this boy, but honestly, she wasn’t surprised that he was mad at her for something she said years ago. Though why he was traumatised now, she has no idea.

 

“You don’t, do you? Well I certainly remember you…” he stepped off his bike, his boots leaving purple burnt marks on the pavement. Chloé was now terrified. She couldn’t transform here, because hawkmoth and other pedestrians would find out Queen Bee’s identity. But as far as she knew, Ladybug or Chat Noir weren’t in sight.

 

“A while ago, I remember you insulting my dad’s motorcycle. You knocked it over and your cute little friend laughed and laughed,” Chloé officially hated herself. She wished she could see the boy’s face, but it was covered by a shimmering glass panel, “That was nothing. Just stupid little taunting. I got over it. But you know, I think I’ve had enough with all the unnecessary hate my poor bike gets.” Chloé kept backing up as he got closer and closer. “My teachers think it belongs in a junkyard. Police officers think it’s unsafe.” Chloé’s back hit a wall. She was trapped. “So imagine my surprise when I find out that the city is planning on implementing a new public safety regulation to get rid of old motorcycles, this bike included. Can you guess what mayor came up with that idea?”

 

Well Shit.

 

Once again, the Bourgeois lineage making it’s embarrassing mark on history. Chloé didn’t even know about this motorcycle regulation, but it certainly sounded like something her father would make. He probably didn’t know about the whole thing himself, just signed away to get some more cred with other leaders in Europe. Yet, here she was getting the raw end of it.

 

With his gloved hand, he grabbed her neck. Instinctively, Chloé’s hands tried to pry his away, but that was an impossible task. She was now in survival mode. How could she stall this guy long enough until one of her partners got here in time?

 

“So, where _is_ your dad?”

 

His grip got harder. Chloé was sweating, “S-Spain.”

 

“...oh…,” His grip loosened. She took a deep breath, gasping for air, “... but I guess they’ve got TV in Spain. Let’s hope he’s watching the news. Maybe watching his daughter die on live television will change his mind.”

 

His glove sparked a bright purple lighting, burning her skin on her neck. She let out a guttural scream. Her flesh burned into a hot red as she gasped in shock. She couldn’t breath. Her hands tried to pry his away, but it was impossible. She painfully tried to break away from his death grip, but he was too strong. She was choking. Tears formed in her eyes as her vision darkened.

 

“Hey Disco!”

 

What? Chloé had no time to question who yelled that as a blue feather landed into the shoulder of her attacker. He cried out in pain, dropping Chloé to the ground. She barely had time to gasp for air before a dark blue figure swooped her into his arms and leaped safely away onto a nearby rooftop. Her hands flew to the back of his neck, holding on for dear life.

 

He had a dark blue skin tight suit that faded into orange towards his hands and feet. A blue mask covered bright orange eyes. His brushed back indigo hair still perfect as normal. He looked down at her with the usual superhero grin until he saw the painful red marks on her neck. His orange eyes widened with worry, “You alright, blondie?”

 

Chloé coughed, “Y-yeah. I’m fine.”

 

“You don’t look fine.”

 

She rolled her eyes, “Since when were you a doctor?” Then she realized something, “My bag. I left-”

 

“Hey bird brain!”

 

Le Paon, still carrying Chloé, turned towards the akuma down on the street, who had pulled the feather out of his shoulder, dropping it to the ground. The cocky blue superhero smirked, “Wow, where did you pick that insult up? 1955?”

 

The akuma growled while Chloé groaned. Good old Paon, focusing more on his comebacks than the safety of Paris.

 

“I am Motocyklista, and I will have my revenge against this city. And I will start with the Mayor’s Daughter, Chloé Bourgeois!”

 

Le Paon raised an eyebrow and looked back down to Chloé, “I thought you were done creating akumas.”

 

“I didn’t create him… my dad did.”

 

He chuckled, “Must run in the family, I suppose,” She glared at him, “Sorry.” He turned back to Motocyklista, “I’m sorry sir, but Miss Bourgeois isn’t available right now. Maybe me and you can just talk it out?”

 

“I am going to get my revenge on Mayor Bourgeois by killing his daughter for all to see, and no colorful superhero is going to stop me!”

 

This time, Le Paon didn’t crack a comeback. All of a sudden, the feather that had been discarded on the ground bursted in a blinding orange light. Motocyklista flew back into the side of a building, cracking the brick walls and falling onto the concrete. He groaned in pain as a thick layer of smoke was filling the street. It filled his lungs and blinded his vision as Le Paon bounded across rooftops, away from the confused akuma.

 

The Peacock hero sprinted between houses and apartments, Chloé in toe. She closed her eyes as wind rushed through her hair before finally, they stopped. She was back in her bedroom.

 

He placed her down on the bed, “You okay?” He was still worriedly looking at her burn mark. His gloved hand brushed over it. Chloé gasped at the painful touch, and his hand flew back, “Sorry,” Chloé tensed up, “How bad is it?”

 

She carefully felt it herself and it still stung, “Manageable,” Her eyes widened, “My bag! Where’s-?” The blue-suited hero had, slung over his shoulder, her school bag. He gave it to her and she snatched it away without hesitation, “How did you-?”

 

“I’ve learned a thing or two from a foxy friend. Your welcome, by the way.”

 

“Thanks,” He turned his back to her, looking out the window to find red and black blurs leaping into his dissipating smoke cloud, fighting against the motorcycle akuma. Chloé made a brief glance into her bag to find her Kwami hidden inside. The little bee gave her knowing nod. Chloé needed to transform.

 

Le Paon walked back out on her balcony, “Are you gonna be safe here, Chloé?”

 

She brushed off his worry, “I’ll be fine. Now don’t you have some heroes to be helping?”

 

He chuckled, “I guess you're right. See ya blondie,” and with that he lept off her balcony and ran down the rooftops to help take down the Akuma.

 

Her Kwami immediately flew out from her bag, “I thought he’d never leave. Ready to go?”

 

“You bet.”

 

**< >**

 

Chloé Bourgeois bursted through the doors of Miss Bustier’s classroom out of breath. The fight with Motocyklista lasted way too long and she was certain she’d be in detention for how late she was. But, she was surprised to find most of the class empty. The only people there were Nino and Alya, who had decided to take the front row seat, Adrien and Marinette, sitting right behind them, and Nathanaël, still sitting by himself in the very far back, sketching some doodles in his notebook. Not even Sabrina was there.

 

“Ah, good morning Chloé. I’m actually surprised that of the few responsible students I have in this class, you’re one of them.”

 

Alya snorted and Nino elbowed her. Marinette gave her an apologetic smile. Chloé had spent the last couple of years trying to mend what her and Marinette had torn apart since the start of school. Gone were the insults and glares, replaced by strained smiles and awkward exchanges.

 

She took her normal seat, this time by herself. Miss Bustier walked over and placed a small piece of paper on her desk. On it were instructions for… a poster?

 

“Instead of a test for this unit, I’ve decided that an arts and crafts project might be a little more engaging. So, you and a partner are going to create one to display your historical event of choice by monday. I wish I could have told that to the rest of the other students, but…” Miss Bustier looked around the near empty room, “It seems that they will take an akuma attack as an opportunity not to come to class. Hopefully, they do check their emails.”

 

“Um, Miss Bustier, can I have my friend, Sabrina, as my partner?”

 

“Sorry Chloé, but it seems that Sabrina called in saying that she won’t be here on monday,” Miss Bustier looked up from her desk, “And I don’t want you to overstrain yourself on the project all by yourself,” Great, “But you know who doesn’t have a partner?” Oh no. “Nathanaël.” She looked up towards the back of the room, “Mister Kurtzberg, are you working back there?”

 

Nathanaël shot up from his drawings, startled by his name. His hair was a bit messy and disheveled. He had a simple grey sweatshirt over a standard white t shirt. Chloé smiled at his appearance, _Cute_ . Wait, what? _Since when was Nathanaël ever cute? Objectively attractive, maybe, but cute? Definitely not. No way. Nope. Never. Not a chance._

 

_...okay… maybe just a little..._

 

“Chloé, why don’t you go sit back with your partner?”

 

She grumbled something incoherent and marched herself towards the back of the room. Nathanaël looked up at her and she was briefly frozen by his soft gaze. Silently, he scooted over. Sitting down next to him, Chloé pulled out the piece of paper.

 

**< >**

 

He should be paying attention, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t. Nathanaël Kurtzberg, artist, introvert, famous superhero of paris, often found himself stressing over the littlest of things.

 

As Chloé talked on and on about what French battle she thought would make the best poster, he had found himself stealthily glancing at her neck. He had seen it earlier, a painful and unhealthy red spider web spiraling down to her collar bone. Burned into his memory. He had protected Paris with Ladybug long enough to see how, quite humorously, miraculous her power was. Even today, he had seen the side of a building that had fallen away return right back to normal in the blink of an eye. Yet here, he was somehow worried that an injury sustained by none other than Chloé Bourgeois wouldn’t heal.

 

Nathanaël looked back up to Chloé’s eyes just in time, “-so how about we pick Waterloo?”

 

He nodded, absentmindedly.

 

“Great. I think I have some ideas on how we can-”

 

She trailed off again. He took in more of her appearance. His gaze glided back down to her neck, soaking up the smooth pale skin. _Since when did Chloé start looking so-... different? Was it her hair? Clothes? Makeup?_

 

His eyes climbed up to her usual, if less tacky hairstyle. Just an old fashioned ponytail. Nothing new there. Her clothes, maybe. Granted, he had seen her wearing less and less designer jackets. But at the same time, she goes to plenty of business parties with her father wearing dresses that were so elaborate, they might as well have been a costume in Star Trek. As for her make up, there was certainly a change. Particularly, the lack thereof.

 

Gone was the heavy eye shadow and intense blush, instead replaced by her natural complexion. She looked… nice. Beautiful even. Nathanaël never thought in a million years that he would be saying that about Chloé Bourgeois, and yet here he was. Something about her had definitely changed though, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

 

“-so my house, then?”

 

He shook from his gaze, “huh?”

 

“After school, for the project. Want to come over to my place?”

 

“Uh, yeah. Sure,” She smiled and looked back down at her bag. Nathanaël laughed, “I never expected you to be the type to let a commoner in your house.”

 

She snorted, “What makes you say that?”

 

**< >**

 

The bell rang. The few students who had even reached school that day dispersed down the large steps. Thunder echoed through the streets of Paris as think torrents of water pounded on the cement. Chloé looked out at the daunting street. All she had was a sweatshirt. Perfect.

 

Nathanaël wasn’t that much better off. His zip up hoodie was as protective against the storm as tissue paper. He walked right up beside Chloé and stuck his hand out into the rain, “Man it’s really coming down.”

 

A high pitched squeal caught both of their attention. Down the steps, right at the street corner, was Adrien and Marinette, kicking water at each other laughing and giggling like children. Despite herself, Chloé did break out a small smile. Even though it was hard for her to get over Adrien, she was still his friend. If he was happy, so was she. The two lovebirds walked hand in hand across the road. Luckily for them, they had a nice big umbrella, not to mention the fact that Marinette’s bakery was right across the street. Once again, Chloé cursed at just how far she lived from School.

 

Nathanaël rubbed the back of his neck, “Listen, I have an idea. I live just around the corner. It wouldn’t even take a minute to get there. You wanna come to my place instead?”

 

Chloé looked back out at the rain, “...I don’t know…”

 

“Come on, me and you can work on the project and wait until the storm passes. Unless-,” he held out his hand, already dripping wet within seconds, “you want us to get soaked instead.”

 

Her eyes met his. She grumbled something incoherent, “...fine…”

 

All of a sudden, he grabbed her hand, “We’re going to be in kind of a hurry.”

 

“Wait, Nathanaël, I- ah!” Obviously he wouldn’t wait for her. He pulled her out into the rain, the heavy drops immediately soaking her sweatshirt. Together, they ran down the slippery pavement, Chloé not having the slightest clue where to go, and instead just relying on Nathanaël. She should have probably asked where he lived, but then again, she also wasn’t planning on being dragged out into a thunderstorm.

 

The two sprinted down the path as thunder boomed in their ears. Chloé’s feet were soaking wet by the time they rounded the corner. Every puddle she stepped in sent a wave of water upwards in her face. It was cold, it was wet, it was… okay, a little fun. Not even Chloé could keep a straight face, even as a car went whizzing by, sending a tidal wave of water onto her once dry clothes. Nathanaël couldn’t help it, and he snickered at the blonde stood drenched in water.

 

But, karma got back at him. His foot slipped on the wet ground and it wasn’t too graceful. Had he not been holding onto Chloé, he would have landed on his butt right on the curb. Instead, they both clumsily slid on their knees, landing in a puddle. The two looked at each other, faces both full of shock, before they laughed their asses off.

 

By the time they had made it to Nathanaël’s house, they were both drenched, cold, and out of breath. Their faces were red and they held their stomachs from laughing.

The inside of the foyer was a little small as the two teens had to brush up against each other just to get through the door. Once they calmed down, and their abdomens stopped hurting, the uncomfortable wetness became apparent. Chloé pulled off her pullover only to find her shirt just as sopping wet and clinging to her body, “Uh, Nathanaël…”

 

“Oh, right. I’ll get you something to wear, hold on,” he climbed on the stairs, leaving Chloé by herself.

 

She took a brief glance around the small apartment. Despite it’s small size, it still felt warm and cozy, and that meant something since it was coming from someone literally dripping wet.

 

Nathanaël poked his head out from the top of the stairs, “You can come on up,” Begrudgingly, the shivering blonde took slow steps up the fairly steep stairwell. At the top was a cramped hallway, with a bathroom door held open by the redhead, “I have some clothes for you in here. Go get changed so I can dry those,” He pointed to her sweatshirt.

 

She nodded and stepped into the small bathroom, the door shutting behind her. A little yellow bee came flying out of her bag, “Wow, only the first date and you’re already undressing yourself.”

 

Chloé, despite her red cheeks, glared at the kwami “What are you doing? What if he hears you?” She hissed.

 

“Relax, he won’t hear,” she stretched, “Man, what a nap. Waterproof hand bag, your best purchase yet.”

 

“Oh, thank god _you’re_ dry.”

 

“I know. Wouldn’t want you worrying about me.”

 

Chloé picked up the pile of clothes Nathanaël left for her. A soft red t shirt and a loose pair of sweatpants. The clothes were warm and soft to the touch. _His_ clothes. Her eyes narrowed. Would embarrassment beat hypothermia? Well, dry clothes were dry clothes.

 

She peeled off her shirt, the gross fabric clinging to her skin. Then came her jeans, not as bad as her shirt but horribly soggy and wet. With a towel, she wiped down her legs and tried to dry her hair, but it was still damp and messy.

 

Slipping into the sweatpants felt nice. They were loose, obviously, but she was able to tie them tight enough so they rested comfortably on her hips. Nathanaël’s shirt, however, hung down loosely over her body. _Damn him and his stupid tallness._

 

Her Kwami didn’t let up on her remarks either, “How does the saying go? A guy’s shirt on a girl’s body is like a flag on a conquered fortre-” Chloé flicked the little bee away. Pulling her hair back into her ponytail, she walked out into the hallway.

 

**< >**

 

Nathanaël pulled off the wet sponge that was once his shirt, the cold material leaving goosebumps along his skin. From his bag flew out a little blue peacock, in a surprisingly happy mood. She fluttered about the room, humming to herself gleefully.

 

He was used to it.

 

She landed on the messy red mop that was his hair, contently laying there as if Nathanaël existed purely for her leisure, “Duusu, you’re going to have to stay up here. We’ve got a guest over.”

 

“ _You’ve_ got a guest over,” she continued humming to herself, “You seem pretty happy for someone who’s working with… you know… a bully…”

 

“Duusu!”

 

“What? I’m just looking out for you! I don’t want anyone hurting my chosen’s feelings, much less a manipulative girl like her!”

 

He sighed, “She’s changed Dusuu… okay?”

 

She eyed him skeptically, “Whatever you say…”

 

He scoffed, “Like I need _your_ approval,” He pulled the t shirt over his head, knocking the little Kwami off. He stepped towards the door.

 

“Wait! Nathanaël!” Duusu hovered up to him, “I just want you to be safe. It would kill me to see your feelings crushed all over a stupid girl.”

 

“I know, Duusu, but at least trust me on stuff like this, okay?” He nuzzled the little peacock, “I’ve already got parents looking out for me.”

 

“Well their both gone at the moment, so someone has to step up.”

 

He laughed, “I’ll be downstairs, please no racket up here,”

 

She made the zipping motion over her lips. Nathanaël quietly stepped out of his bedroom, now in some warmer and much more comfortable clothes.

 

**< >**

 

Chloé found herself mesmerized by all the little photos and pictures hanging along the wall. It was an unorganized mash of old, nearly crumpled up drawings and worn family photos.

 

There were the obligatory vacation photos, many of which had a small and, dare she say adorable baby Nathanaël and his parents, both looking fairly young at the time. Holding the infant was his mother, also a redhead herself. She was quite short, but certainly gorgeous. She wore a stunning blue sun dress and had a motherly beauty to her. Nathanaël’s father had messy brown hair, and was quite tall in comparison to his wife. His genetics were obviously responsible for Nathanaël’s recent growth in height.

 

As she continued along the wall, the wrinkles on their faces grew as Nathanaël became older, but their smiles were always beaming. Chloé found one photograph of a large family gathering. It looked to be dozens of relatives, probably cousins and aunts and uncles all gathered together in a group photo. Humorously, the photo was nearly half filled with redheads, Nathanaël and his mother accounting for two of them.

 

The occasional drawing of Nathanaël’s was seen hanging from the wall. Sometimes, there were elaborate paintings brimming with bright colors. Other times, they were just rough doodles sheets of looseleaf paper.

 

“Hey.”

 

Startled, Chloé jumped, her head spinning around to find Nathanaël, also in dry clothes. Though his weren’t as loose as her’s. His hair was wet and hung down in front of his eyes. He pointed to the living room, “My parents are gone for the weekend, so we can work down here.”

 

She nodded.

 

The redhead waltzed into the living room, Chloé following shortly behind. The room, despite its size, felt expansive thanks to the large windows on the far wall. Connected to the living room was an open kitchen, much smaller than the ones Chloé had seen at the hotel.

 

Nathanaël swung open the refrigerator door and pulled out a half empty pizza box, “You wanna piece?”

 

Chloé wrinkled her face in disgusted, “No.”

 

His face morphed into utter confusion, "Why not?”

 

She scowled, “None of your business.”

 

He shrugged, “Fine. More for me anyways,” He took a large bite out of the frozen goodness, “Guess girls like you can’t handle commoner food.”

 

She groaned, “I never said that.”

 

“Whatever you say.”

 

Chloé clenched her fists and plopped herself down on Nathanaël’s rather comfy couch. He came in right after her, throwing himself on it in a haphazard fashion. Chloé’s irritation grew.

 

Nathanaël still prodded, “Seriously, though. Why on earth don’t you like Pizza?”

 

She clenched her eyes shut, “How would I know? I just don’t like it, okay? Can you just drop it?!”

 

He held up his hands in mock surrender, “I was just wondering,” He stretched, obnoxiously poking his feet against Chloé’s, “Welp, let’s get cracking on that project.”

 

**< >**

 

“So what made you pick Waterloo?”

 

“Hm?”

 

Nathanaël was sitting on the floor, a now colorful poster partially completed with him. Chloé was lazily sprawled out on his couch, textbooks and notes scattered across her body. They had been working for two hours, yet the rain outside showed no signs of letting up.

 

“You picked Waterloo for our project. Why?”

 

“...I… I don’t know. Did you want something else or-”

 

“No no. Waterloo is fine. It’s pretty fun to draw, actually,” He looked up at her, “But that’s a very complex battle. Why didn’t you pick something easier, like from World War Two?”

 

She shrugged, “It looked… interesting…”

 

Nathanaël still wasn’t convinced, “The research you gave me was pretty thorough, almost as if you had some prior knowledge about it,” A sly grin crossed his face, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were a… history nerd.”

 

Chloé rolled her eyes, “As if. I couldn’t care less about history. I just want my report card to look spotless once I go off to University.”

 

Nathanaël smirked, “I bet you couldn’t wait to do a project all about the Old Guard facing down the British with their Lebel rifles.”

 

“Actually, the Lebel rifles weren’t used until World War One.”

 

His shit eating grin grew. Chloé realized his trap, but it was far too late, “You are _totally_ a history nerd!”

 

“I’m-No-... shut up…,” She muttered.

 

“Oh, so you don’t deny it?” She didn’t say anything. He laughed, “Who knew, Chloé Bourgeois, the staple of ‘hip’ trends, was a history buff.”

 

“It’s… I find it interesting, okay? Just lay off.”

Nathanaël returned to coloring the poster, Chloé meanwhile wishing she could burn her history notes.

 

**< >**

 

Another hour went by before Chloé’s stomach audibly growled. She was starving. She kept stealthily glancing back towards the kitchen, still contemplating whether or not to go for the greasy peasant food that Nathanaël called pizza.

 

Despite her attempts at hiding her own hunger, Nathanaël still noticed, “Are you _sure_ you don’t want just one slice?”

 

Chloé wanted to say no. She wanted to make a snide remark, or to make a clever sarcastic comeback. But her thoughts were interrupted by her stomach again. With no other option, she caved in.

 

“...fine...whatever…”

 

Nathanaël leaped off the ground and bounded for the kitchen. After some rustling around in his refrigerator, her came back with a slice of pizza, unceremoniously held by a paper towel. In a mocking gesture, he bowed to her, “Oh great Queen, please accept this commoner’s lowly gift.”

 

She snatched it from him, “You know, you could learn some manners.”  


“That’s rich coming from you.” She stuck her tongue out at him. Nathanaël watched her take the first bite, “Well?”

 

She gave him a blank expression, “It’s alright. But that’s only because I’m hungry.”

 

He shrugged and went back to the poster. Chloé, herself, would never, in a million years, like greasy fatty pizza.

 

Unless she was very hungry.

 

And it was frozen.

 

And it came from a certain redhead.

 

**< >**

 

The sky was now considerably dark, and while the rain had calmed down, it was still pouring outside. Nathanaël decided to call it a day, and he gave Chloé her now dry clothes, so he could walk her home. Chloé tried to protest, but of course Nathanaël was having none of it. His excuse was that he had one umbrella, and he didn’t trust her on giving it back. But he also had some other… more worrying reasons.

 

Maybe it was the superhero in him, but he did not like the idea of Chloé, an objectively attractive young girl walking alone on the streets at night.

 

So, with her sweatshirt back on, and Nathanaël and his umbrella in toe, the two set off into the dark parisian streets. Nathanaël did find the walk actually quite beautiful. The colors of the yellow street lights reflecting off the pavement were just waiting to be painted. Chloé, meanwhile, enjoyed the peacefulness to it. The sounds of the rain pattering off the Umbrella and the distant sound of traffic made her feel comfortable.

 

By the time the redhead and the blonde had made it to Le Grand Paris, Chloé was ready to fall asleep. The lobby was empty, and much of the staff had already gone home. Only one of the hotel’s receptionists was there.

 

“Well, this is where I get off.”

 

Nathanaël yawned, “Do you wanna meet tomorrow… or-?”

 

“Yeah. Tomorrow’s good. When were you thinking?”

 

“Nine in the morning?”

 

“Sure,” She stretched, her eyelids quite heavy, “My place or yours?”

 

“How about yours?” She nodded. Nathanaël walked towards the doors of the hotel, before turning back to her, “‘night Chloé.”

 

“Good night, Nathanaël.” With that, the redhead pushed open the doors and strolled into the night.

 

Chloé, on the way up to her bedroom, suddenly found herself feeling… strange. It was indescribable. Her stomach was fluttering, her heart still beating fast. She felt an odd sense of loneliness, and yet at the same time, bubbly enthusiasm.

 

Once she walked into her bedroom and her door was shut, the little yellow fuzzball flew out of her purse, annoyed at being cooped up for hours.

 

The blonde, now changed into loose pajama pants, jumped onto her soft mattress. She reached over and grabbed her laptop, the homescreen already on the ladyblog forums. She browsed through a couple posts, annoyed at the oversaturation of all the fangirls gushing over Le Paon. “Le Paon’s so hot this, Le Paon’s so cute that.” The amount of attention the peacock hero got made her want to throw up.

 

With nothing to do, she slipped her laptop away and laid back onto the bed. The little bee had curled herself on top of one of Chloé’s pillows, somehow already tired. Chloé’s eyes began to flutter shut, her thoughts still focused on a certain artist. Her body relaxed, her limbs went limp, and her mind went into dreamland.

 

Though this time, it wasn’t sultry dreams with the Evilllustrator. Instead, she dreamt of owning a home with a dorky artist. She dreamt of wedding bells and honeymoons. She dreamt of a little girl with eyes as blue as Chloé’s and hair as red as her father’s.


	2. Wonderful Weekend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I didn’t expect so many people to like my little story. Thanks for all the compliments! Turns out, I completely missed ChloNath week a while back. So to make up for the fact, here’s a nice long chapter. Also don’t worry, there’s going to be plenty more.

**Chapter 2**

 

Chloé felt a cool breeze blow across her body, goosebumps standing on her skin. She pulled herself further under the soft luxurious covers, cocooning herself in warmth. The large window for the condo was wide open as the calming sound of tropical Caribbean waves crashed outside. Chloé, in nothing more than a loose pair of shorts and an old t shirt, pulled the blankets of the large bed closer to her, and subsequently away from the other occupant.

 

The figure lying next to her, grumbled at the cold, and nuzzled closer to her in response, wanting more of the blankets she so greedily held. Chloé giggled as he held her close to his chest, scattering little kisses down her neck and along her collarbone. She turned towards him to either scold him or push him away, but she was silenced by his lips. Her hands went to the back of his neck while his went to her waist beneath her shirt. But, that was as far as he got before a loud creaking noise echoed it’s way through the condo. Both of them turned to their bedroom doorway.

 

There stood a little girl. Even in the darkness, Chloé could make out the bright royal blue eyes that looked like they were on the verge of tears.

 

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Chloé held her hands out.

 

Without hesitation, the little girl rushed into her mom’s arms and was pulled up onto the bed. She was shaking, her lip quivering, with the dam about to burst any second. Chloé placed a kiss on top of her messy hair which was as red as the man lying next to her.

 

“...I-I had… a-a nightmare…”

 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Chloé held the shivering girl tightly in her arms, the girl’s father pulling the two of them into a larger hug. The girl was calming down, but Chloé’s heartstrings were being painfully pulled. She wanted nothing more than to keep this girl snuggled in the safety of her arms.

 

The man lying behind Chloé pulled the blankets over his wife and daughter, holding both of them close. Eventually, the little girl’s sniffling quieted it, and she was soon fast asleep in her mother’s arms. Soon, her mother was the only one awake, enjoying the comfort of her life. Chloé sighed, her shoulders relaxing, as she allowed the pull of sleep to take her.

 

<>

 

The sharp piercing wail of a phone woke Chloé from her dreams. The Blonde, half asleep, grumbled at the annoyance. Something felt… wrong. She felt dazed and confused. She tried to take a breath in, only to find her nose constricted. Her throat felt sore, and her skin had become frozen.

 

She was sick. Perfect.

 

Luckily for Chloé and her tired eyes, the sky was still quite cloudy, so she wasn’t blinded by an annoying morning sun. There was no rain though, so it must have stopped from last night. Her eyes widened.

 

Last night.

 

Nathanaël!

 

The ringing of the phone, of which Chloé had ignored, now became evident. She snatched it.

 

“Miss Bourgeois?” She recognized the voice as Valérie, who had been working at the front desk of her father’s hotel well before Chloé had even been born, “Miss Bourgeois, a boy was here wanting to see you.”

 

Great. Now Nathanaël probably thought she blew him off, “...ummm… Valérie?” Her voice sounded weak, “... can you call him back?”

 

“Oh, don’t worry, dear, he’s on his way up.”

 

Oh no.

 

“Miss Bourgeois, you sound very sick. Do you need me to send up some medicine or some soup or-”

 

Chloé threw down the phone, her mind racing. This was bad, very bad. It took all of her strength to push herself out of bed as her bones felt like they would snap. She groaned as it took all her will to abandon the comfy warmth that was her bed. Her grouchy Kwami made herself known by fluttering off her pillow, “It’s a Saturday, why do we have to get up?”

 

Chloé tried to run to her bathroom to fix her hair that was undoubtedly a mess, but she struggled as nausea took over. Leaning against the wall, her mind spun in a sickening swirl of confusion and worry. The dreams of the night before rushed into her like a freight train, only making her already weakened state worse as the true scale of the situation made itself known. She had dreamt about Nathanaël _without smuttiness_. Every other dream that she had been having of him for the past four months each could have been dismissed as a product of teenage horniness. Those dreams did give her some breathing room to remain in denial as much as she wanted. Not this dream.

 

Suddenly, a soft knocking at her door followed by a muffled voice, “Chloé, you awake?”

 

_Shit!_

 

The butterflies in Chloé’s stomach made her want to throw up. She desperately pulled herself up from her wobbling knees, her entire body too exhausted to operate or function. A cold sweat made its way down her arms, as her clammy hands tried to straighten her bedhead. Deciding that her hair was manageable enough, she looked at the door with dread.

 

More knocking.

 

With her mind still hazy, it took all of her courage just to open it. Standing outside was, unsurprisingly, Nathanaël. He was in his usual casual attire, jeans and a sweatshirt. Tucked underneath his arm was a folded up poster board. He was carrying some art supplies, clearly excited to spend the entire day working on it. His bright smile dropped immediately when he saw her. Her blood shot eyes, tangled hair, and sweaty skin probably had something to do with it.

 

“Oh my god, Chloé, are you-”

 

Chloé held up her hand, “...I’m fine....” She attempted to sound strong and healthy, but instead her words came out tired and weak.

 

Nathanaël didn’t hesitate. He slipped past her into her bedroom, much to her dismay, and set their poster down on the table. Chloé followed him, trying to dissuade him from worrying about her.

 

“...Seriously, Nath… it’s just a cold…”

 

But he wasn’t having any of it. He gently grabbed her arm and the two sat down on Chloé’s rather expensive couch. Hitting the soft cushions made it hard for Chloé not to fall asleep right then and there. The redhead cautiously reached up to her forehead. He tried not to focus on how smooth Chloé’s face was, or the way her eyes fluttered to his touch, or even the way that his own cheeks began glow red.

 

But he still couldn’t help but notice just how much she was burning up. He pulled his hand away, “Do you have any medicine?”

 

She nodded, “...in the bathroom…”

 

Nathanaël bounded off the couch, leaving Chloé to herself for a brief moment, before returning with the orange colored fluid, “Here,” he handed her the cap, “This should help.” Chloé, without even thinking, downed it in one go, probably a mistake. When the intense foul taste reached her throat, she almost gagged.

 

Nathanaël, meanwhile, was feeling awful, “God, I’m sorry Chloé. I didn’t mean for you to get sick.”

 

After sipping her water, the blonde curled up into a fetal position on her couch, “...just get me a blanket…”

 

He nodded and bounded into her bedroom. Normally, Chloé would be horrified at the notion of any boy, much less Nathanaël, wandering into her personal sanctuary. But at the moment, she just wanted nothing more than to sleep.

 

When Nathanaël entered her room, he was absolutely shocked, to say the least. Knowing Chloé for so long, he thought that he had a pretty solid idea of the kind of person she was. But, it seems that day by day, his perception of her was changing. He expected her room to be a mess of expensive designer dresses, boxes upon boxes of shoes, maybe potent in the stench of makeup and nail polish. Instead, her room was filled with books, mainly, history books. Some were neatly organized along shelves, others piled up in the corner. There were some old period-piece novels and a few non-fictional historical guides.

 

It was also at this moment when Chloé, who had finally struggled through the haze of sleepiness, realized the huge mistake she had made of letting Nathanaël into her room. With cold sweat trickling down her neck, she desperate grabbed onto the couch, attempting to pull herself up. But, once the microsecond of what was left of her adrenaline wore out, the world was suddenly spinning. She became nauseous, bile trying to force its way from the bottom of her throat, and her knees gave way.

 

Suddenly, she felt two strong arms catch her half way down. Nathanaël, who had come back with her red blanket, had managed to grab her shoulders in order to keep her balanced, “Chloé! Are you alright?”

 

Said blonde was struggling not to vomit right then and there. She looked towards him, her tired expression painfully stretching into a fake smile and a weak thumbs up.

 

Obviously, Nath wasn’t convinced, “C’mon,”

 

He lead her right back to the couch. Chloé begrudgingly followed him. Once he had her back on the couch, he handed her the fuzzy blanket, to which she happily cocooned herself in.

 

“Happy now, your highness?”

 

Chloé, despite her tiredness, stuck her tongue out at him, “Very,” She threw her feet up onto the couch, pushing uncomfortably against Nathanaël in an effort to instigate the redhead, “Now, make yourself useful and fetch me some pillows made of the finest Asian silk.”

 

They both laughed. Nathanaël sighed. He looked over at her, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “You’re acting very cocky for someone who's hiding a big secret.”

 

Her eyes widened, her face paled, “...S-secret?”

 

Nathanaël’s villainous grin grew, “You know, the one hiding inside your bedroom…”

 

Instantly, Chloé’s stomach dropped. A cold layer of sweat covered her entire body, her breathing stopped, her mouth frozen in terror. Her brain was sending out alarm bells, her heart racing at a mile a minute. Unfortunately, all of these actions occurred at the exact same moment, and considering Chloé’s state, it didn’t take a genius to see what would happen next.

 

When Chloé felt vomit come streaming from the back of her throat, she tried climbing out of the restricting cocoon that she had foolishly made inescapable. She got her torso out, fell off the couch, and proceeded to vomit over her tiled floor. Nathanaël staggered back in shock.

 

“Oh god! Chloé!”

 

Chloé, now lying on the floor, tried standing up. Thankfully, Nathanaël, with no hesitation, immediately held her by the shoulders and got her to the bathroom, where Chloé proceeded unceremoniously vomit the rest of her stomach contents into the toilet. Nathanaël patiently held the loose strands of her hair away from her face, all the while cringing at the way her whole body tensed in pain. It took a minute before Chloé finished, and she slowly stood from her mess.

 

Her eyes, now bloodshot and burning with anger, flashed towards the unsuspecting artist. Nathanaël briefly staggered back, almost afraid of the beastly appearance of his classmate. She looked like a caged animal ready to kill.

 

“...what… secret…?”

 

“U-uh u-um…” Nathanaël stuttered, “...y-your…” Chloé was shaking, her body tearing itself apart. Her brain was currently going through fight or flight, which either entailed awkwardly escaping her bathroom past Nathanaël, or trying to fight someone who was clearly stronger and bigger than her. Nathanaël had found out she was either one of two things, or maybe two of two things. Either Nathanaël, a civilian, found out her identity, or he happened to see a certain little object that she was certain was laying on her bed at this very moment. The very thing she worried about day after day. But how? He must have seen-“...a history nerd…”

 

“......what...?”

 

Nathanaël rubbed the back of his neck, “I saw your collection. I just thought it was funny that you, of all people, had a taste for history.”

 

Chloé’s adrenaline wore off. The once fiery heat pulsing through her body had left. She felt cold and numb. She wanted to laugh, or cry, or scream, or something. Only someone like her would take Nathanaël's little joke so seriously that she would vomit the entire contents of her stomach right in front of him.

 

She fell to her knees, her cheeks brightening by the second as she began to truly comprehend the state that she had put herself into.

 

With a flush of the toilet, Nathanaël cautiously kneeled down to her, “Chloé? Chloé, you alright?”

 

She nodded unconvincingly, her mind barely functioning. She stood, her feet a little wobbly, “Can you… can you start the shower?”

 

The nozzle squeaked as Nathanaël stuck his hand past the curtain, making sure that the water was hot, but not to the point of scalding. Had Chloé not been so delirious over her current state, she may have giggled at his intense expression over such a frivolous thing. Finally, once the redhead decided what water temperature was the most perfect for her, he stood outside the bathroom door.

 

“What do you want me to do about your clothes?”

 

Chloé completely forgot about her state of uncleanliness, so she looked down at her puke stained shirt, “...shit… can you just… hold on…” She closed the door for a few seconds, Nathanaël awkwardly standing outside, before it creaked open once again. Chloé held out her clothes, all bunched up in her hand, “Here, leave these outside.” Nathanaël grabbed the clothes, but not before experiencing a brief flush of embarrassment as he realized that Chloé stood naked behind the door. His cheeks turned red at the mere thought.

 

The door slammed shut in front of him, and for a moment he was nearly disgusted with himself. _Of all people to fantasize about, you chose Chloé?_ Nath rubbed his eyes, especially when it occurred to him that he would have to clean up Chloé’s mess.

 

He wandered back to the living room, immediately regretting coming to Chloé’s place. A puddle of vomit sat gloriously in the middle of her room, staining the couch, the floor, and Chloé’s blanket.

 

Nathanaël sighed.

 

The redhead wandered throughout Chloé’s room, determined to find something to even attempt to clean the mess. Her searched through cabinet after cabinet until he found some rags and baking soda.

 

He walked back to the crime scene, cleaning supplies in hand, ready to finally get rid of the stench that had slowly started to accumulate through the room. He didn’t get far though.

 

An oddly placed magazine, which he didn’t remember being there before, was lying on the ground, just out of his vision. So, when he stepped on it, the magazine slid with surprisingly little friction across the waxed floor, and Nathanaël along with it.

 

The artist landed on his back, right onto the very puddle of vomit he was trying to clean. Nathanaël groaned, his back not only aching in pain, but also feeling distinctly wet. He stared at the ceiling for what felt like a minute, just contemplating whether or not to call it a day right there.

 

<>

 

Chloé slowly stepped out of her shower, the scalding water feeling luxurious against her ice cold back. She stood there for a moment, basking in the steamy air of her bathroom, the sopping wet blond hair cascading down her bare shoulders. Her reflection in the mirror stared back at her, smooth pale skin and bright blue eyes.

 

Her hand wandered down to her stomach, feeling the soft hints of muscle. Her secret identity as Queen Bee did help with her fitness a lot, but unlike Chat, Ladybug, or even Jade, she wasn’t a brawler. Her role was to hover back, keep civilians safe, and get some shots off on the Akuma from a distance. Volpina and Bee’s own partner, Le Paon, were responsible for sneaking in at close range to do real damage, before falling back to safety. In pairs, they had learned to become pretty good. But together, they were unstoppable.

 

A sigh escaped her lips. Self doubt began to creep into her mind as she began to scrutinize the image before her. _Would Nathanaël ever go for a girl like me?_ She’d be lying if she said that the thought rarely crossed her mind. Quite the opposite really. It was something she wondered to herself a lot recently.

 

Quietly, she dried herself off, before slipping into a fluffy bathrobe. A brief smile of comfort spread across her features as the soft pink material enveloped her cold body. Thoughtlessly, she swung her bathroom door open, ready to lay down under her warm comforter. Only problem was, she completely forgot about a certain guest.

 

“Oof,” Her head collected with something strong, and before she knew it, she was plummeting towards a very hard and very painful looking tiled floor. Luckily, a pair of strong arms quickly grabbed her shoulders, and before Chloé knew it, she was right in the middle of a scene straight out of her dreams.

 

She was being held in the arms of her very own redhead crush, except not only was she in nothing but a bathrobe, but Nathanaël himself was shirtless. On a side note, she was so surprised at just how muscular the artist was, she did a double take. He wasn’t bulky, like Kim, instead he was lean and tall but packed with taut muscle. If he wanted, he could do some great modeling. Chloé had absolutely no idea why he wasn’t surrounded by adoring women 24/7. Just one crazy blonde.

 

Nathanaël, despite the awkward as hell situation, took it surprisingly casually, “Heh, guess I should have knocked.”

 

Chloé’s face burned hotter and redder than a thermometer on the surface of the sun, “W-w-w-what…?”

 

The artist finally realized the damage, “Uh, I’m sorry,” he pulled the sputtering blonde up onto her feet, “I was trying to clean you’re… um… mess, and I kinda slipped in it.” He showed her his back, which had a large stain of her vomit.

 

“O-oh.”

 

He looked around, “You wouldn't happen some clothes I could borrow, would you?”

 

“I… I might.”

 

“Speaking of which,” he pointed to her bathroom, “You don’t mind if I use your shower, do you?”

 

She shook her head, “Go for it.”

 

He smiled, and headed for her bathroom. When the door shut, Chloé finally breathed.

 

She made haste for her bedroom, which at that point, was a complete mess, filled with books and assignments everywhere. Her eyes scanned her bed, upon which rested her most prized, yet embarrassing secret, the one that she had thought Nathanaël discovered.

 

Laying under her pillows was an item that Chloé had contemplated on throwing out, or preferably burning, as if anyone caught her with it, it would be game over. She reached in and pulled it out, a finely crafted item that she had gotten from her “sort-of-by-still-awkward-friend” Marinette. A little doll that had an uncanny resemblance to a certain art-themed akuma.

 

<>

 

The redhead stepped out of the steaming bathroom, wearing, surprisingly his own clothes. He had completely forgotten lending Chloé his own sweatpants and shirt the night before. Luckily, the blonde forgot that she was wearing them, so Nathanaël had a convenient pair of clothes to wear.

 

Of course, there was the unmentionable fact that Chloé, a girl, had worn it over nothing but her underwear no more than a night before, and now Nathanaël was wearing it. So by convoluted child logic, the artist deduced that he was currently making second hand contact with Chloé’s body.

 

He ran a hand through his west messy hair, _thanks hormones._

 

Nathanaël stuck his head into Chloé’s room. The blonde was sitting on top of her bed, a few notebooks scattered on top of the duvet. She had changed into a pair of bright blue pajama pants with a grey t shirt. Most interestingly of all, she kept her hair down, rather than putting up into her normal ponytail. Despite it being a little messy and her face clearly in need of more rest, she she still managed to look, dare he say, beautiful.

 

“Do you normally keep your hair down?”

 

She looked at him, puzzled, “Not normally, no. Why?”

 

“Just wondering,” He shrugged, “It looks… cute…,”

 

_Oh god, why did I say CUTE?! I could have picked any other word, yet I picked that one. She probably thinks I’m a creep._

 

She blushed at his compliment, and patted the bed next to her. After a beat of silence, she cleared her throat, “So I was thinking that we could split the project up. I can work on writing the information down, and you can build the poster itself.”

 

He pulled out the poster board, “Why me?”

 

“Because I’m sick and I don’t have the strength to spend all day gluing stuff together. Plus…,” she huffed, “... you're the better artist…”

 

Nathanaël grew a cocky grin, “You said it, not me,” Chloé groaned, regretting her actions. The aforementioned “artist” merely laughed. He climbed up right next to her, Chloé shuffling a little.

 

Silently, they went to work.

 

<>

 

Chloé was bugging him, horribly. Not intentionally of course, but it was annoying and distressing to say the least. She wouldn’t stop shivering. This had gone on for a couple of hours, before Nath finally had enough.

 

He looked towards her, “Is it too cold in here?”

 

Her eyes widened, “No! No, it’s fine,” he wasn’t buying it, “I’m good Nath, just a little chilly, that’s all.”

 

Nathanaël, silently, reached over and grasped her hand. Chloé gasped, mostly due to how strong and how warm his hand was. The redhead, however, was not pleased with how icy cold her skin felt.

 

“Chlo, you are seriously worrying me. Just climb under the covers for crying out loud!”

 

She glared at him, “No way. I’m not going to be a slacker while you do most of the work,” She crossed her arms, “besides, I don’t wanna look like a sick hospital patient laying on my death bed.”

 

He ran his hands through his vibrant red hair, “Chloé, you kind of _are_ ,”

 

Nathanaël didn’t expect a pillow to come flying into his face, he looked back at the blonde, who was now pouting. This girl was going to be the death of him. Suddenly, a sinister idea popped in his head.

 

He crawled up to her, a guilty smile on his face. She raised her eyebrow, nervous about the redhead’s antics. Suddenly, without warning, he pulled the duvet right out from under her. Chloé slid onto her back, surprised by the sudden exercise in strength.

 

“N-n-nath? W-what are you-?”

 

“I think you deserve a break.”

 

He threw the blankets over the top of her, Chloé squealing helpless as his hands held her squirming waist down. She struggled for a bit until she decided that the position she was in was actually quite comfortable, with the blankets feeling soft and warm.

 

Nathanaël released his hold when he was sure she wouldn’t try to throw the blankets off. He looked towards her alarm, “Warm now?”

 

She scowled her face into an exaggerated pout, but couldn’t keep it straight for long, letting loose a toothy grin.

 

Nathanaël went back to their poster board, while Chloé eyelids began to grow heavy.

 

<>

 

About an hour went by before the redhead looked over at the sick blonde, only to find her fast asleep. Her breathing was quiet, but somehow comforting, especially to the artist. He paused on his work, taking just a brief moment to take in Chloé’s peacefulness.

 

The scene looked, in a brief instant, straight out of a painting. With the pale hue of her skin clashing with the hot pink duvet and the dark grey sky, only interrupted by the subtle tinge of pink on her cheeks and lips. Her blonde hair cascading down her shoulders like an endless shimmering waterfall of gold.

 

Nathanaël stopped himself. He absolutely wanted this to be painted. So, cheekily, he pulled out his sketchbook, which found constant refuge in his messy backpack. He did it slowly and cautiously, as to not wake the sleeping subject.

 

Once he had it in his lap, he began a rough sketch. He started by shaping out her face, from her cheekbones to her chin, and a loose line to simulate the way her flowing hair framed her face. With years of experience, Nathanaël could whip up a good sketch in minutes, but with Chloé, he wanted to be a little more delicate. He had never done her before, odd considering how he had sketched and drawn literally every other person in their class.

 

All he needed, at the moment, was a nice template to work off of for later. He could memorize just about everything about an image in his head, color, lighting, texture, emotion, expression, but one thing he could never get down were the slight touches that made a seemingly alright portrait extraordinary. Like the way loose strands of hair came down over Chloé’s relaxed eyelids, or how her one hand gripped her blanket, or even the way that the corners of her lips were slightly turned upwards, showing a cute smile of comfort in her sleep.

 

So, the artist did was he did best, he drew. He sketched and sketched for what seemed like an hours, doing nothing but drawing lines, adding in features, creating a hint of shadow and lighting. He fretted or little, insignificant details, that made him feel all the more embarrassed.

 

Here he was, drawing his classmate, in her sleep. _God, if Chloé found out…_

 

He brushed that horrifying thought away, before going back to his sketches. That is, until he heard a soft moan.

 

The redhead looked back up, silently observing Chloé. She began to move, her arms shifting positions. He held his breath as she tossed and turned in her sleep, before finally settling back down. She smiled, her hands clutching the blanket even tighter.

 

Nathanaël felt oddly comforted at the fact that whatever dream she was having, it was good. But then things took a stranger, darker turn.

 

She began to whisper to herself, very faintly and very quietly. Had the artist not been holding his breath, he wouldn’t even have heard. Knowing that this was way out of his comfort zone, he still inched forward, trying to make out whatever she was saying.

 

“...-der,”

 

 _What?_ Her soft voice was still impossible to make out. He moved even closer, until he made out one word.

 

“...harder…,”

 

Nathanaël’s face paled, his throat felt dry.

 

 _Well great._ Nathanaël had officially gone from creepy sketchbook weirdo to peeping tom in a matter of seconds.

 

Chloé began to moan quietly, same as before, only this time Nathanaël knew the true horrifying reason behind it. Now, he had a decision to make. Either not do anything, and listen to his classmate’s private dreams, or wake her up and face the wrath of a tired angry blonde.

 

He went for the later, albeit with a modified strategy. Grabbing one of Chloé’s books from off the ground, he held it up high before letting go. The heavy object fell through the air before colliding loudly with the carpeted floor. Immediately Chloé sat upright, her eyes barely open, her shoulders tense, and her body slightly covered in sweat.

 

“...what...who is it?” Her eyes landed on Nathanaël, clearly unsure as to why he was there in the first place. All of a sudden, her memory came back to her, “...Nath? What...what time is it?”

 

He looked at her alarm clock, “Almost one o’clock,” his voice was a little shaky.

 

Chloé yawned and stretched her body, her shirt pulling up to expose her slender midriff and lower naval. Nathanaël blushed and looked away.

 

She looked back at the redhead, “What have you been doin’?”

 

He eyed his sketchbook, “Oh, nothing.”

 

<>

 

Another few hours went by, before once again Chloé began to sway forward. Her eyes struggled to remain open as her writing became harder to read. A mostly complete poster board lay on the ground right in front of the bed, we’re Nathanaël was still working without pause.

 

That is, until he heard an unexpectedly cute yawn. He turned, and sure enough, Chloé was rubbing her eyes, on the verge of sleep.

 

He then realized that she hadn’t gotten any good rest with him being around. She caught him staring, and sat up, “What?”

 

Silently, Nath stood up off the ground and walked over to her, “I think we can finish the project tomorrow.”

 

She rubbed her eyes, “You sure?”

 

He nodded, “Plus, you need your sleep.”

 

The artist began packing up the poster, “How about same time tomorrow, my place?”

 

“Sure,” She yawned, and closed her eyes.

 

Nathanaël quietly left the room and gathered his things. Now changed into freshly clean clothes, he stuck his head back into Chloé’s room, only to find her fast asleep. She was clutching her pillow tightly while her duvet had slipped to down to her legs.

 

The artist silently approached and tenderly grabbed a hold of the duvet, before slowly pulling it over her body. He did it slowly and cautiously as to not wake his peaceful classmate. Finally, once the blanket was wrapped around her all warm and snug, Nathanaël tiptoed out of the room.

 

“Sweet dreams, blondie.”

 

If only he knew...

 

<>

 

Chloé felt reinvigorated. All it took was a day’s worth of rest (thanks due in part to a helpful artist) to make her feel like a thousand bucks. Granted, she had felt a little stuffed up, but nowhere near as bad as the day before. It was a beautiful Sunday morning, with barely any clouds in the sky following a gentle cooling breeze. Chloé wore a simple outfit, Jeans and a yellow T-Shirt. Her hair was pulled up into it’s classic ponytail.

 

“I think you should’ve left your hair down.”

 

“Shut it,” Chloé gritted through her teeth.

 

The yellow Kwami snickered from her bag, “Nathanaël did say it looked sexy…”

 

“No he didn’t,” She hissed, “...he said it looked… cute…”

 

They continued down the street without much excitement, and before she knew it, Chloé was right at Nathanaël’s door. She looked down at her watch. Five minutes early. _Oh god, what would Nathanaël think if he saw me arrive this early? He would probably think I’m a stalker._

 

Pollen looked up at her chosen, and rolled her eyes, “Kids these days,”

 

The Kwami flew up to the door and punched the doorbell. Chloé squealed in fright, unprepared for the sudden turn of events, before the door slowly creaked open.

 

“...hello...?”

 

“Huh? Oh, um, hey Nath!” She put on a bright smile, that is, until she caught the sight of him. He was wearing the same shirt from the day before with baggy sweat pants, his vibrant red bed head was messy and sticking up wildly, and he sported heavy bags under his bloodshot eyes. He looked just as bad as she did the day before, “Oh no… are you-?”

 

“Sick, tired, weak, and feeling like shit?” His voice sounded strained, “Yes,” He coughed violently, holding his chest in pain. Chloé instinctively reached out to him, holding his shoulders until it subsided. He looked back up to her, “Guess I should’ve known, huh?”

 

“Gosh, Nath,  I-I’m so sorry about this.”

 

He held up his hand, “Don’t stress, it wasn’t your fault,”

 

“But I got you sick.”

 

He laughed, “I made you run through pouring rain, which got you sick and then got me sick. So by that logic, it’s all my fault.”

 

“But-”

 

“Chloé!” She felt his hands on his shoulders. His teal eyes, despite their tiredness, still looked as if they could penetrate her soul, “Why have you been so hard on yourself lately?”

 

“...W-what?”

 

“Like yesterday, you refused to get basic human rest all because of a dumb homework assignment,” his mouth thinned, his face full of concern, “What’s up, Chlo?”

 

“N-nothing. Nothing’s up!”

 

He didn’t look convinced.

 

She let out an exaggerated sigh, “Look, speaking of homework, we still have that project to finish, kind of why I’m here.”

 

“Oh I finished it already.”

 

“What? Why?”

 

He shrugged, “You had provided more than enough notes, so I worked through it all last night. Get it out of the way, y’know?”

 

“How long were you up?”

 

“Oh not too late, maybe three, four in the morning.”

 

“Nath! That isn’t healthy.”

 

“Oh, that’s rich, coming from you,” He snickered, “I was actually going to call to let you know that you didn’t have to come over, but I guess I slept in too late.”

 

Chloé pursed her lips, “So you’re telling me to leave?”

 

“I mean… if you have other things to do...,” He awkwardly scratched the back of his neck, “...but I wouldn’t mind some company…,”

 

Her eyes widened, a small smile forming across her face, “Mind if I come in?”

 

He smiled back, “Not at all.”

 

They walked inside the foyer, Chloé recognizing the room from two days ago. This time, the place had a much nicer feel to it. The bright late morning sun casted a beautiful warm glow that made the small building feel larger than life.

 

The two walked into the living room, their now completed poster board standing tall and proud. It had elaborate and colorful designs, clearly an artist’s work, alongside well written and professionally researched boxes of text all written by a certain history nerd. Easily worth an ‘A’ without a doubt.

 

They walked to Nathanaël’s couch, which was adorned with blankets and pillows, evidence of having been slept on during the night. Chloé scowled to herself, _Nathanaël was so tired that he couldn’t even make it to his bedroom_.

 

He sat himself down, moving the blankets away to make room for her. He also grabbed the various bottles of pills and medicine lying on the coffee table.

 

Chloé plopped herself down on one side, with Nathanaël on the other. She turned towards him, “So, what excitement do you have planned for today?”

 

He shrugged, “I thought I’d play some video games,” he pulled out a controller, before looking back at her, “You wanna join?” She stared at him skeptically, “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

 

“I… I’ve never really played before…,”

 

“Then I’ll teach you,” She still didn’t really trust him. “Come on, Chlo, what do you have to lose?”

 

“My dignity.”

 

He laughed, which gave him a glare from the blonde. He held up his hand, “I promise I won’t laugh, even if you mess up really bad.”

 

“I don’t trust you at all.”

 

He booted up the console and pulled out a second controller, “Here you are,” She stared at it briefly, before grasping it awkwardly. Her hands naturally found their way to the buttons. Nathanaël beamed, “There you go. Soon you be playing like a pro.”

 

She didn’t take kindly to his sarcasm, so she stuck her tongue out at him. But he only laughed. The TV came to life as he navigated through a menu before, finally, a game was running.

 

She looked at him, a hint of interest in her voice, “So how do I play?”

 

<>

 

Nathanaël did try to make it easy for her, he really did. He picked some of the easiest games he owned where they could work together cooperatively. But alas, some people are made to play video games, and some people are not. And then some people go crazy. To add to onto it, Chloé’s historical immersion was being tested.

 

“Why do the allies have submachine guns in Arabia in World War One? Why doesn’t the sun reflect off my scope? How come the german side has access to british tanks? This game isn’t really historically accurate, isn’t it?”

 

Then they played a different game.

 

“Why would rebels attack an empire head on? Why do these lasers travel slower than actual bullets? Why would anybody build a four legged tank? Our tanks move faster than this one.”

 

“I know, Chloé, I know…,”

 

Eventually, she gave up at trying to navigate a controller, but was content in just watching him play. So he decided to show off some of his most difficult titles, if anything, to impress Chloé. He playing one where he was shooting Demons but he was also on mars or something and everything went by super fast… the blonde wasn’t too interested. She was more focused on sneaking quick peeks at the redhead, if only to giggle at how focused he looked. It was cute.

 

Once the level ended, he placed the controller down, and clutched his head, “Nathanaël?”

 

“Oh, just a headache.”

 

She raised her eyebrow, “And you're playing video games?”

 

“Well what else is there to do?”

 

She groaned, “How much have you slept?”

 

“What? Umm, I don’t know… five hours.”

 

Chloé narrowed her eyes at him, for deciding on a course of action. She straightened out her legs before placing a pillow right on top of her lap, “Lay down.”

 

Nathanaël balked. He looked at her as if she had just told him to strip, “What?”

 

“You heard me,” He patted right in her lap, “Lay your head down.”

 

He laughed, “What game are you playing, Chloé?”

 

“Just…,” she sighed, holding back a remark, “Look, you probably feel like shit right now and staying awake and playing video games isn’t going to solve it.”

 

“I’ve tried going to sleep… but everything just…,”

 

“...hurts?” He nodded, “Don’t you forget that I was just as sick as you. I know how you feel right now, so for once, can you please…,” her voice cracked, “...trust me?”

 

He sighed exaggeratedly, but did as Chloé said. Nathanaël laid himself on the pillow right in Chloé’s lap. He felt awkward, to say the least. But comfortable, he guessed so. His head still hurt but now he was also in a rather compromising situation in front of his long time…

_Enemy?_

 

The word felt alien to him. Hawkmoth was an enemy. Akumas, well most of them anyway, were enemies. Chloé Bourgeois, an enemy? He briefly felt disgusted with himself. Chloé, the girl who was spending her Sunday hanging out with a sick dweeb, he was about to call his enemy.

 

His focus, however, was abruptly cut as he felt a soft hand comb through his messy red hair. Chloé slowly and tenderly rubbed his scalp. Nathanaël suddenly began to realize just how tired he was. His eyes were struggling to stay open, and thanks to Chloé’s head massage, he was on the brink of passing out.

 

Chloé paused, a brief moment to check her phone, until Nathanaël humorously grumbled in annoyance. She couldn’t stifle her giggle as she returned to massaging the redhead’s scalp. He was like a needy pet.

 

After a short few minutes, Nathanaël began to lose consciousness and fell into a well deserved sleep.

 

<>

 

Nathanaël’s eyes opened at the sound of his front door closing. He looked around, briefly unaware of what he was doing on the living room couch. Finally, he remembered what had happened earlier in the day.

 

Long dark shadows had been casted in the room, so he guessed that it was late afternoon. He also felt incredibly hot. He struggled to remove the tight hold of blankets wrapped around his body, and found a thin layer of sweat on his skin. His shirt felt damp, so he peeled it off. His poor clothes had gone through more terror in the past few days than they had in the previous years. Rain, vomit, and sweat, to name a few.

 

Now free of his blanket cocoon, he stretched out his muscles, that is, until he heard a soft gasp. He spun around to find Chloé. She was holding two bags. One of which was checkout bag from a pharmaceutical store, the other, seemed to be a takeout bag sporting a logo from her very own hotel.

 

Chloé, meanwhile, caught sight of the still incredibly buff Nathanaël, only this time, shimmering in a thin layer of sweat. She blushed immensely, as the aforementioned buff artist became aware of the situation, “Oh… uh sorry Chloé,”

 

He pulled his shirt back on, Chloé staring at the ground, to ashamed to make eye contact with him, “...I-uh got you some stuff,” she handed him the plastic bag, “I thought you could use some refills on your medicine,” then she handed him the other bag. It was steaming hot and emitting a delicious scent, “I asked one of the hotel cooks what you should eat when you're sick, so he made this,” it was a packaged bowl of soup.

 

“I… thanks Chloé,” He placed them on the coffee table.

 

“Well, I gotta get home. My dad’s gonna be home from his trip soon.”

 

“Alright, I’ll walk you out.”

 

Together, they made their way to the door, neither one of them wishing for the day to end. He held the door open for her and she walked out onto the steps.

 

“Thanks for everything, Nath. I had a fun weekend.”  
  
He smiled, “Me too.”

 

She stared out at the road, the afternoon sun tinting the city in a beautiful orange glow. She made one final glance back at him, “See ya tomorrow.”

 

With that, Chloé made her journey home. Nath watched her steadily down the path, before heading back inside.

 

<>

 

“Why didn’t you kiss him?”

 

“Shut up Pollen.”

 

“Seriously, you had a golden opportunity to not only kiss your crush but to do it while he was shirtless.”  


Chloé didn’t respond.

 

“You guys could’ve gone to the next level, too.”

 

“That’s gross pollen,” Chloé looked down, blushing, “...he was sick.”

 

“So you're saying that’s the only reason?”

 

Chloé groaned.

 

That night, she didn’t fall fast asleep. Instead, she stared aimlessly at her ceiling, her mind going a mile a minute. She was thinking about a lot of things, the future, tomorrow, love, families, art, red hair, and goofy dorks. What she didn’t know, was that a certain redhead was wondering about the exact same thing.

 


	3. Perilous Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, I'm back for more! I'm glad that people are enjoying my story, so I hope you enjoy this chapter. It's my longest one yet, but I also think it's my best.

_No._

 

_The petite figure was unmistakable. Her blonde hair, torn loose from it’s usual hold, cascaded across the concrete._

 

_No._

 

_He tried to run fast, his lungs aching and his legs sore, but he couldn’t reach her. The bright crimson of blood was everywhere, as was the stench. The raw smell of iron burned his nostrils, but he kept moving._

 

_His limbs were strained, they felt like they would break if he kept moving, but he continued the futile effort._

 

_No. Please, not her._

 

_She weakly turned towards him, her once lively blue eyes now dim and lifeless. His own teal eyes stung as they filled with tears. Why couldn’t he reach her?!?!_

 

_Her mouth was moving, as if she was trying to say something, but no words came out. In an instant, she became still. Her skin growing pale, her expression frozen._

 

_No. No no no!_

 

_“Chloé!”_

 

<>

 

Nathanaël woke up gasping. His shirt drenched in sweat, his hair tousled and his eyes bloodshot. He looked around like a crazed animal, trying to make sense of his surroundings, trying to determine where he was. After a moment, he realized that he was in his room, just his bedroom.

 

He shakily climbed out of bed, his skin glimmering in the blue of early morning. The redhead didn’t make it far, as it took just a few steps before he collapsed on the floor. Sobs wracking through his body.

 

The artist hung his head down, ready to throw up. It took a minute, but finally, he leaned back, noticing that his throat was painfully dry. He slowly reached out for the water bottle on his night stand, but that was an impossible feat. His hands shook violently and he struggled with the cap.

 

The blue little Dusuu hovered up to him, tenderly unscrewing it for him. He gulped the liquid down until the bottle was empty. He dropped it to the ground, as his shaking began to subside, his eyes focusing on the early dawn of Paris.

 

His Kwami landed on his shoulder, “Nathanaël?”

 

He looked at her, worry all over her face, “S-sorry for waking you.”

 

She shook her head, “Nightmare again?”

 

The artist nodded silently, his breathing quick and nervous. He had had bad plenty of nightmares in the past, especially when he took up the role of Le Paon. There were even plenty of ones with Chloé, but the ones he began having recently were unlike anything he had experienced before. They felt so real, so physically tangible, there was no way that he could be dreaming.

  
Yet he always was, and of course he would then wake up shaking and sobbing and sometimes throw up. Luckily for him, they weren’t common, but when they did happen, he could just say goodbye to a night’s worth of rest.

 

He pulled his legs up to his chest, his eyes shut tightly trying to blot out the horrifying images of his classmate. Dusuu comforted him, nuzzling against his cheek, and he gave a small smile in response, but his thoughts remained troubled. So he stared out at the city, bathed in a deep blue sky. Workers and city goers ready to start a new promising day.

 

<>

 

The entire class applauding was music to Chloé’s ears. She and Nathanaël stood at the front of the class, their poster board on display.

 

“Wonderful job! A great start to our week,” Madame Bustier looked back down at her schedule, “Next up, Alix and Kim.” Chloé grabbed the poster and walked back to Nathanaël’s usual seat. The redhead was about to follow her until, “Nathanaël.”

 

He turned, surprised, “Yes?”

 

Bustier’s smile weakened a little, seriousness instilled in her eyes, “I am to understand that the work for this project was evenly split, correct?”

 

He nodded, a little nervous, “Uhh… yes, of course!”

 

She eyed him, not too convinced, “I expect that if anything happened, you would tell me, Mister Kurtzberg.”

 

“Y-yes Madame Bustier!”

 

Alix and Kim had made it to the front, arguing with each other over who had to present. The teacher looked back at Nathanaël, “You may go back to your seat.”

 

As the artist made it to the back of the class, the first thing he noticed was that Chloé was still there, even though their project was finished and they no longer needed to work together. The second thing he noticed was the questioning look she gave him, clearly aware of the conversation that had just occurred between him and Bustier.

 

“What was that about?”

 

He sat down, “Oh… it was nothing.”

 

Her eyes narrowed, “Nothing?”

 

“She just asked about… our involvement.”

 

Her eyes widened, “What did you say?”

 

“The truth,” he looked at her and grinned, “just how we both worked on it together.”

 

Chloé sighed and rested her head on the desk. Alix and Kim were still arguing at the front of the class, so the room was conversing with themselves. She looked back at Nathanaël, “You didn’t have to do that.”

 

He raised his eyebrow, “Do what? Tell the truth?”

 

“You know it wasn’t the truth…”

 

“Of course it was!”

 

“No it wasn’t,” she leaned back in her chair, “I spent half of the weekend sick.”

 

“So did I.”

 

“Because you worked on it nonstop until you literally became sick,” she replied, sticking her hands into the comfy pockets of her sweatshirt.

 

He laughed, causing a stern look from the blonde, “Y’know, I couldn’t have done it without your research.”

 

She shrunk further into her chair, “Whatever.”

 

Nathanaël was silent, but was certainly not at peace. He didn’t like the way Chloé was treating herself. Granted, it’s always smart to be critical of your own work, but to this extent, it seemed very unhealthy.

 

He looked over at her, a small moment of silence falling between them, before he came to his senses, “Why are you here?”

 

Chloé looked at him, utterly confused, “Huh??”

 

“You’re still sitting here, don’t you have a spot at the front of the room?”

 

“Oh… uh…,” she looked forward, seeing her now empty seat, “... I guess… uh… since Sabrina isn’t here, the only person I can talk to is… um… you,” she looked at him, a nervous expression on her face. Nathanaël was nearly caught breathless at how rich and blue her eyes were, “You don’t… uh… mind, do you?”

 

“N-no, of course not,” he looked away, attempting to hide his faint blush. He decided to quickly switch the subject, “Where is Sabrina, anyways?”

 

“Oh, um… family stuff, I think,” Chloé said, “I don’t know when she’ll be back.”

 

They returned to silence, and both stared forward. After another group presented, Chloé became irritated with how silent her neighbor was. She turned to him, about to give him a piece of her mind, only to realize that the redhead had his head in his arms, dozing off in a nap.

 

She couldn’t help but giggle.

 

<>

 

A couple weeks had gone by and her friendship with Nath had grown slowly, but steadily. While they hadn’t done any big projects together since their presentation, they began to spend more and more time in class near each other, whether it be working on an assignment, cracking jokes, or just enjoying the other’s company.

 

Granted, it was still a little awkward, especially for Chloé, but she enjoyed having Nathanaël as a close friend. Not a boyfriend… just… a friend.

 

As time went on, the each of their lives began to change in tiny little ways. For example, Chloé began to subconsciously pick and choose outfits that she thought Nathanaël would like. Likewise, Nathanaël began to up his wardrobe game as well, transforming from a lazy art student to a less lazy art student.

 

Chloé was also attempting to get better at drawing, though even then, it was a futile effort. Nathanaël however had some success in learning more and more about history, specifically the time periods that Chloé geeked out over. He relished in those moments where he could hold a conversation with the blonde and not be completely lost, though even if he was lost, it was a sight to behold. When she was talking about a battle or an event, she would explain to him every little detail in such an enthusiastic and cute way.

 

The biggest change with Chloé was how often she began to wear her hair down. When her classmates asked her about the change in style, her excuse was that she was worried about damaging her hair. The real reason, because Nathanaël thought it was cute.

 

And she was right, as Nathanaël felt like he had to fight his inner self and force himself to not run his hands through it. She was going to be the death of that boy.

 

<>

 

Chloé, felt her phone vibrate right as she turned the corner, seconds away from her hotel. The afternoon streets of paris, while not cloudless, was still quite picturesque. The sound of people excited to finally get to go home. A nice cool breeze blew through her hair. Chloé glanced down at her phone, blissfully unaware of the world around her. It was a message from her dad. She glanced over it, seeing his usual stuff:

 

“...Sorry I won’t  be home tonight…,” and, “...too busy with work…”

  
But one of the messages caught her attention.

 

“...hosting a party at our hotel this Friday.”

 

Party? He rarely even attends parties anymore, much less hosts them. Chloé looked further down.

 

“Leading the event with us is Madame…”

 

She stared at the name.

 

Oh no.

 

She stopped, her skin growing ice cold, her legs refusing to cooperate. As she looked back up at the hotel, she suddenly noticed a black limo parked right out front, ominously confirming her suspicions. She wanted to throw up right then and there.

 

Chloé took baby steps down the sidewalk, all the while wondering if she couldn’t just sneak in through a different route as Queen Bee. However, she would definitely bump into an employee, which wouldn’t be a good idea.

 

She stepped into the hotel, and sure enough the creature of her nightmares stood before her in hell’s glory.

 

“Hello Chloé...,”

 

The hairs on the back of the young blonde’s neck stood up. Shivers went racing down her spine, as she slowly turned around to the very being who she had been fearing. Her long Blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, though a small portion of her hair near her forehead was dyed into a dark purple. Expensive hoop earrings hung from her ears as her hazel eyes, no doubt adorned with heavy eye shadow,  burned painfully right into Chloé’s soul, despite being behind a pair of expensive sunglasses.

 

“Hello... Patricia,” Chloé nearly spat the word, as if the very mention of it was an insult in itself. It certainly did to Chloé, as simply saying it felt disgusting.

 

The older woman pulled her dark red glossy lips into a smirk, and placed her hands on her hips, “That’s Madame Bourgeois to you, brat.”

 

Chloé wanted to strangle her, tell her that Madame Bourgeois was a title that she had no right to, or anyone for that matter. Had Chloé’s blood not literally been boiling at that moment, she may have slipped a tear or two at the sound of that name.

 

The older women turned away, and returned to admiring the hotel lobby, some poor assistant following her closely, “What a wonderful establishment your father has. I always thought it would make the perfect place for a get-together..”

 

She paced through across the tiled floor, her dark black designer jacket looking out of place against the white colored room.

 

She kept her back to Chloé, “I’m sure your father wouldn’t mind me taking over,” she smiled to herself, attempting to get a reaction out of her, “He has enough tasks as it is, and it doesn’t look like you’re doing anything worthwhile with our name.”

 

Chloé remained silent, clearly aware of her game.

 

“In a way, you remind me of your mother. A shame she wasn’t as serious as me.”

 

Chloé had to fight back the tears forming at the corner of her eyes. The nails digging into her hands began to strain as she struggled not to sack her at this very moment.

 

Patricia sighed, “You know, Chloé, even I’m surprised at how little you’ve matured over the last few years…”

 

_Don’t react, you know what she’s trying to do, just don’t say anything!_

 

“...even I thought you would be suitable Bourgeois material…”

 

_A lie, obviously._

 

“...but now I see you walking out in public wearing this?” Patricia looked down at the younger girl’s simple sweatshirt as if it were a disgusting pile of rags. To her eyes, it may as well have been just that.

 

Chloé scoffed, “Okay... Crabby Patty.”

 

Patricia’s assistant couldn’t help but snort at the name. The older blonde ripped off her sunglasses, and strode over to Chloé, their fiery gazes never off of each other, “You listen here you little shit, I have my yearly investment relying on how smoothly Friday goes and I’m not gonna have some stuck up little bitch ruin it for me. Your lucky your father stepped in, otherwise, I wouldn’t have even considering letting you within a mile’s radius of this hotel.”

 

Chloé didn’t break her eye contact, content with not giving the older blonde any ammunition to work off of. Patricia didn’t let up.

 

“Do you think you’re mature, Chloé?”

 

She shrugged, “Yes I do.”

 

Patricia grinned, “Really?” She said exaggeratedly, “Well, you better act like it at the party, otherwise I am going to humiliate you so hard you will be begging for mercy.” Chloé scowled at her, eliciting a laugh from the teasing woman. Her phone buzzed, so Patricia took a quick glimpse at it, before groaning, “Well as fun as this chat was, I’ve got to get going,” she began walking towards the exit.

 

Chloé thanked whatever forces in heaven at work silently, that this horrendous beast was briefly, if for just a moment, out of her life. However, Patricia turned back to her.

 

“One last thing, I don’t want you to attend all by yourself,” she typed away at her phone, “It’ll embarrass the hell out of me if some little kid is running about the place like a lost lamb, so bring someone along,” Patricia glanced back up at Chloé, “I assume you’ve found a boyfriend by now?”

 

The younger blonde, in a weak attempt, tried to bluff her way out, “Uh-uh yeah! Yep!”

 

Patricia looked far from convinced, “Oh really?”

 

A sinister smile formed on her lips as Chloé continued through her lie, “Y-yes, we’ve been… um… together for a little bit now… and… uh,”

 

“What’s his name?”

 

“-I… w-what?”

 

“His name, Chloé. What is it?”

 

Chloé panicked.

 

<>

 

“So then you said my name.”

 

Chloé nodded, her face hidden behind her hands to hide her growing red embarrassment. Nathanaël Kurtzberg sighed and ran his hands through his hair as Chloé nervously awaiting his response. The class room was nearly empty, with a few students straggling behind as the mid-afternoon sun casted shadows against the far wall.

 

“Then what happened?”

 

“She left.”

 

He didn’t answer, just remained in deep thought “So how are you two related again?”

 

“She’s my Dad’s Cousin’s daughter.”

 

He went back to thinking

 

“Please say something.”

 

“...something.”

 

“Nath!”

 

“I guess the apple doesn’t fall too far from the-”

 

“That isn’t funny!”

 

“Why are you telling me this now?!” He yelled, stress clearly taking hold of his voice.

 

“When else would I have told you?!”

 

He remained silent and continued thinking before finally saying, “Why me? Of all the people you could’ve chosen, why the hell did you pick me?”

 

“I don’t know!” She yelled, even though deep down, she really knew the reason why. Nathanaël grumbled to himself, opting to laying his face back in his arms, “... I’m sorry…,” her voice quivered.

 

He looked back up at her, “So what do you expect me to do about it?”

 

“Ummm…. Attend the party?” He groaned, “It’ll only be one night!”

 

“Look Chloé…,” he struggled, clearly trying to find the right words, “I’m not like you. Sorry, no offense, but I’m not the kind of person who goes to these types of things. I’d probably stick out like a sore thumb, anyways.”

 

When she didn’t respond, he looked back at her, regretting doing so immediately. Her diamond blue eyes looked as if they were on the verge of tears, as was her quivering lips. She looked down, letting out a shaky breath, before standing up suddenly. The chair was knocked back, startling the redhead. Chloé, not even looking at him, walked down the steps and out of the classroom.

 

Nathanaël remained sitting there, his brain a mess of worries and regrets. A little blue bird fluttered out of his pocket, not there to scold him, but simply there to comfort him. He looked at her, a sad smile on her face, before looking down at the desk. He thought for a moment, weighing his options. He groaned, knowing that he would look back on his decision with regret, “...fuck…”, with that, he bolted out of the classroom, ready to catch a blonde.

 

When he emerged, he was lucky to see that Chloé hadn’t made it that far, only just on the steps outside the main entrance, “Chloé!”

 

She turned towards him, a sad expression on her face. One that Nathanaël wanted to wipe away. She waited for him to catch up, Nathanaël stopping in front of her, taking huge breaths. He wiped away his messy hair, and looked up at her.

 

“I’ll do it.”

 

He didn’t expect to get tackled in a tight bear hug. He could hardly breath as the blonde tightened her hold on the artist, “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

 

“...okay...Chloé...please...let go…”

 

She released him, but was all the more energetic, “Nath, you are incredible!”

 

“I… guess…?”

 

Nathanaël’s breathing briefly halting as her genuinely happy expression stunned him. She beamed at him, “I don’t know how to repay you.”

 

He chuckled, “I’ll think of something.

 

She began to stroll away, before turning back to him and yelling, “I’ll keep you posted!”

 

He nodded, and watched the blonde practically skip down the sidewalk, his grin stretching wide. The redhead shook his head, laughing, and strolled back home. His thoughts, while occupied, were suddenly uplifted.

 

<>

 

“Someone, HELP! My son is out there!”

 

“Bee!”

 

“On it!”

 

The bee themed superhero ducked as a javelin missed inches from her ponytail. She slid down the roof and lept onto the pavement, her sights locked on a little boy in the middle of the street right out in the open, no more than 6 years old. Queen Bee snatched him up in a firm hold and ran for her life as sharp javelins barely missed her. Millions of years of maternal evolution took over as she lept and dodged over the projectiles, all the while keeping her eye on the surprisingly cooperative kid.

 

She slid along the pavement, about to turn, only to realize that a Javelin had already been thrown at her face. She didn’t even have a millisecond before a silent feather had intercepted the object and blew it to pieces.

 

The blue peacock hero leapt in front of her, “Bee, I’ll keep him distracted, get the civilian out of harm’s way.”

 

She looked back down at the child, who had a strong grip on her shoulder. She nodded and zipped across the street, while Paeon duked it out with the akuma.

 

He called himself Javelin (very original) and his weapon was, you guessed it, a bunch of javelins. Chloé completely forgot why he was akumatized in the first place, something about a competition or something.

 

Once she landed near a crowd of people, cordoned off from the battle by police, she searched the crowd. The boy in her grip suddenly started squirming and pointed to a woman, so Bee zipped over.

 

“Lucas! Lucas!”

  
The hero handed over the child to his mother, who embraced him in her arms. She held him tightly, whispering sweet things to him in a motherly way. A pang of something made itself known in Chloé’s chest however. She had no idea on how to even describe it. A mix of satisfaction, but also of envy?

 

A loud crash a block down took her away from her thoughts as her blue partner slid across the pavement. So she took off.

 

<>

 

“Miraculous Abeille!” In a split second, all the damage caused by the two heroes and the villain had been reversed, and Paris could once again enjoy their lunch. Chloé was taught never to waste her power, as it was much more unstable than Ladybug’s. However, it came in pretty handy on days like these, where the two partners could make a quick exit.

 

But today, as was the case after every battle, swathes of people swarmed up towards them. For Bee, she got the serious minded reporters.

 

_“Queen Bee, do you think the police are doing enough to help stop these villains?”_

 

_“Hey, Bee, what are your thoughts about Mayor Bourgeois and his agenda?”_

 

_“Miss Bee, what is your opinion on the UN decision to intervene in the Parisian crisis?”_

 

_Hey miss superhero, what do you think about the new exhibit at the history museum? I hear it’s pretty neat.”_

 

She took a deep breath, “I think their doing a fine job as it is, I have no comment, who knows when they’ll actually get around to it, and I’ve already seen it and I agree, it’s pretty neat.”

 

Le Paon, however, had a pretty different crowd, which including a lot more younger women who had a not so subtle reason why Paon was their favorite superhero.

 

_“I love you, Paon!”_

 

_“He’s so hot!”_

 

_“Damn, that skintight suit doesn’t hide anything!”_

 

_“Hey Paon, I asked my boyfriend and he said he was fine if me and you quick did it.”_

 

Lucky bastard.

 

Of course, as always, he played the oblivious little superhero who always tried to calm his fans down with nothing but smiles and waving. Also a little embarrassment thrown in for good measure.

 

Queen Bee, realizing that she had places to be, got ready to fly right out of there, until a question stole her attention.

 

“Hey Queen Bee! Are you gonna attend Madame Bourgeois’s event?”

 

She turned, her eyes singling out the reporter from the back. She slipped through the crowd right towards him, “H-how did you… w-what party?”

 

“The one at Le Grand Paris,” he pulled out his notepad, looking through a hastily written list, “Apparently Ladybug and Chat Noir are attending. I was wondering if anyone else would be on the list.”

 

“...I…,” _Ladybug and Chat will be there. Why on earth are they attending that bitch’s party._ Bee realized that the reporter was still waiting for an answer, “I-I… uh… cannot speak for me or my partner at this time.”

 

She bounded off, wind swishing by her ears, rooftops going by her blurred vision, as thoughts bounced around inside her head. Le Paon noticed this, and excused himself from his fans. Together, the two superheroes bounded across the rooftops, Bee slowing down for Paon to catch up.

 

“Hey Paon?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Have you heard about this party.”

 

He leapt over another ledge, his brain reminding him to feign ignorance, “What party?”

 

“The one hosted by the mayor at his hotel.”

 

He shook his head, before leaping across another gap. They paused on a particularly flat and wide roof, as the peacock hero caught his breath.

 

“Apparently Ladybug and Chat are going.”

 

His eyes widened.

 

She placed her hand on her hips, “Do you know anything about this?”

 

“Nope. Just as much as you do.”

 

Bee sighed, before looking down at her watch, “Sorry to break this party up, but I gotta get going.”

 

“Me too. Same time, next week?”

 

She laughed, “Until we meet again, Blue.”

 

“Likewise, Bee.”

 

A yellow and a blue blur broke apart, each one unaware that the other was racing to the same destination.

 

<>

 

By the time Chloé entered the classroom from her “lunch break”, she was shocked to find an extra person hanging back with Nathanaël, right by her (new) seat.

 

“Hey Chloé!” Marinette greeted her cheerfully as she walked to the back of the room.

 

She walked back to her, “What’s going on?”

 

Nathanaël sighed, “I told her everything.”

 

Chloé gasped, “What? Why?”

 

“Because you two are gonna need all the help you can get if you want to be ready by Friday,” Marinette pulled out her planner, “Luckily for you, I’ve scheduled everything ahead of time.”

  
Nathanaël chuckled as horror graced Chloé’s face, the blonde pouting in her seat.

 

Marinette scribbled something down in her book, “Luckily for you, Chloé, I’m nearly finished with a dress that would look fabulous on you,” she gave an apologetic look at Nathanaël, “Sorry, Nath, no peeking.”

 

He raised his hands, “No problem.”

 

The bluenette excitedly showed Chloé some of her sketches, to which the blonde simply gawked, “Marinette… t-this is incredible.”

 

She only smiled in approval, “Just you wait ‘till you try it on tonight.”

 

Chloé looked at her, confused, “Tonight?”

 

<>

 

Nathanaël sat back at his computer, ready to call it a night. He took a bit of a guilty pleasure in knowing that Chloé was stuck trying on dresses with Marinette while he was scott free. Or so he thought.

 

He was in the middle of his games when the doorbell rang. Soon after, his mother was yelling up at him, “Nathanaël, your friend is here.”

 

_Friend? What friend?_

 

The redhead walked down the stairs, only to find not Chloé, but Adrien Agreste standing at the bottom. He looked a little guilty, shifting his foot slightly.

 

“Uh… Adrien?”

 

The model looked at him, “Sorry about this, but Marinette told me to.”

 

“Sorry about what?”

 

As if there to answer his question, a woman stuck her head in. A bit young, maybe in her mid twenties, she had very short auburn hair, and a bright orange t-shirt on. When she looked at Nathanaël, her blue eyes widened in excitement. Nathanaël stumbled back as the bubbly girl ran up to him, “Oh my, look at this beautiful shade of red.”

 

The artist nervously glanced back at Adrien as the woman touched and inspected his hair. Adrien rubbed the back of his neck, letting out an embarrassed chuckle, “This is Maria. She’s one of my hairdressers.”

 

Said girl back away from Nathanaël, “Oh, my apologies! I must look like a wierdo, walking into your house all uninvited and such.”

 

_That’s not the only reason._

 

She looked down at her watch, “Welp, we’d better get started.”

 

Nathanaël was unceremoniously pulled out the door, to a limo parked on the curb. Adrien glanced back at his mother, staring at the commotion from the Kitchen, “Uh.. we’ll be back by Ten, Misses Kurtzberg.”

 

The blonde dashed out of the house, catching up with Nathanaël, who was helped into their limo. Once inside, the redhead noticed an entire entourage waiting for him. They were younger adults wearing ridiculously flamboyant clothing and hairstyles. The artist was briefly reminded of the movie “zoolander.” He was also reminded of a nature documentary where a pack of wolves were ready to converge on their prey.

 

<>

 

Two hours and approximately ten gallons of hair gel later, Nathanaël looked back at himself in a mirror, surrounding by high-profile hairdressers and fashion gurus, arguing with each other and debating over his hair as if they were generals in a war. The poor redhead however had no choice in the matter, as he was nothing more than their canvas.

 

The room reeked of gel and spray, so much so that had someone lighted a match, he was sure that the entire building would catch on fire. Though he did have to admit, that he didn’t look too shabby. His hair was slicked back, finally giving the world a good view of his pale face. As one of the hair dresser’s had so adequately put it, “He looks like a playboy.”

 

Once again, his thoughts began to wonder, listening in on the various conversations in the room. Adrien was on the phone with someone about a tuxedo, Nathalie was attempting to defuse the arguing that had broken out among the designers, and in the corner, a group of women from the entourage were chatting excitedly among themselves.

 

“Did you see that shot of Le Paon today?”

 

Nathanaël perked up.

 

“I know! What a hottie.”

 

His cheeks flushed red.

 

“God, does he have modeling experience? I’d love to talk to his agent.”

 

“He must, no way he can pull off unplanned photo shoots with that much style, and in a skintight suit, no less. Much better than Chat Noir. That kitty could learn a few things about being a model.”

 

“Do you think Le Paon’s coming to the party?”

 

“I don’t know, I hope so.”

 

Nathanaël grinned, at both the irony and the notion that he was right under their nose.

 

“Why? You want to get to know him better?”

 

“I’d like him to ruffle up my feathers, if you know what I mean!”

 

They laughed. Nathanaël sometimes wondered how disgusted these people would be with themselves if they realized they were ogling a highschool boy.

 

He looked back at the mirror, his eyes feeling heavy. He just wanted to crawl into a nice warm bed, not endure the idiocy surrounding him. Why was he even here, again? His phone buzzed. The artist peered down at it, only to find a small message from… Chloé:

 

_Hang in there <3 _

 

All of a sudden, the night seemed worth it.

 

<>

 

“Is the blindfold secured?”

 

“Adrien, this is ridiculous…”

 

“Sorry Nath, you know the rules. No peeking until your date’s ready.”

 

The redhead huffed, “She’s not my… never mind.”

 

The piece of cloth over his eyes began to feel irritating. He had a rough idea of what Chloé’s dress would be like, if only for the fact that it would be teal. He wore a black tux with a modest teal bowtie, chosen because it matched his eyes. He had to thank Adrien for keeping it modest, as without his intervention, the rest of the fashion team would have turned him into a walking rainbow of embarrassment

 

They were currently standing in Chloé’s bedroom, with the party already started downstairs. High profile industry leaders were strolling on in as journalists and tabloid writers eyeing any dramas like vultures to a slaughter house.

 

Suddenly, he began to hear voices coming down the hall.

 

“C’mon, he’ll love it, I promise,” Marinette’s voice.

 

“I-I don’t know. What if he doesn’t?” Chloé’s voice, shaky and nervous.

 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Chloé.”

 

The footsteps got closer, until her heard a soft gasp. Adrien removed the blindfold, to which Nathanaël’s eyes took a moment to adjust. But when they did, his jaw dropped.

 

Chloé’s dress, in all intents and purposes, was quite simple. A polyester teal halter dress, that went from her shoulders down to her feet. A rather provocative skirt slit exposed her leg, as did the cowl back which exposed her shoulders down to her lower back. But Chloé wore it with perfection. Her hair, which was flowing loose in beautiful curls, shone bright and golden. Her face, which was full on blushing red, had subtle, yet beautiful eyeshadow that brought out the royal blue in her irises. Her (kissable) red gloss lips were in a grimace as she awaiting Nathanaëls teasings. But that never came.

 

She looked at him, finally managing to make eye contact, “W-well? How do I look?”

 

The artist was speechless, almost drooling right then and there. To say Chloé looked beautiful was the understatement of the year, she looked angelic.

 

Marinette giggled at Nathanaël’s mouth opening and closing, “I think you broke him, Chloé!”

 

Her blush only became hotter and brighter. Nathanaël finally got the foot out of his mouth, “You look… stunning…,”

 

Chloé looked down, trying to hide the red on her cheeks, “T-thanks. You don’t look bad, yourself,” she turned to the bluenette, “Though I have Marinette to thank for that.”

 

Said designer clasped her hands together, “Welp, it seems like you two have party to get to.”

 

Nathanaël looked confused, “Aren’t you coming along?”

 

Adrien wrapped his hand around Marinette’s shoulder, “Sorry, but we already had a date planned for tonight. Tell us how things go afterward, okay?”

 

Nathanaël walked up to Chloé, holding out his hand, “Shall we?”

 

She nodded nervously. The two walked down the hallway, Nathanaël struggling not to ogle the bare skin of his pretend girlfriend. Once they got to the elevator doors, Chloé turned back to Adrien and Marinette, both of them waving them off as if they were their own kids.

 

The two watched as the elevator doors closed, “I gotta say, this was some of your best work yet, Princess.”

 

“Oh, don’t flatter me,” she sighed, “They need each other. I just wonder when they’ll realize it.”

 

“Maybe tonight?”

 

She shrugged, “Who knows.”

 

Adrien stuck his head down the hallway, making sure no one else was around, “So, what’s the plan?”

 

“Well, we’re only going to be there for the last twenty minutes,” she pulled out a piece of crumpled up paper, “But we’re definitely gonna make an impression.”

 

He raised his eyebrow, “Are you gonna do what I think your gonna do?”

 

She grinned a mischievous grin, “Let’s just say that Patricia has a fate with karma.”

 

“Oh, you're naughty, princess.”

 

“I get it from a naughty kitty.”

 

<>

 

To Nathanaël he might as well be on an alien planet. He was surrounding by ridiculously dressed entrepreneurs, fashion icons, business leaders, and high profile journalists all acting like the most important problem in the world was the quality of the Champagne. He was well aware that he was the only person in the room whose bank account didn’t exceed nine figures. His only connection to this strange world was his blonde partner.

 

Chloé was much more experienced with this type of environment and was more worried about a certain demon lurking in the shadows. She kept close to Nathanaël and whispered him advice and vocabulary so he would fit in.

 

“By the way, it just occured to me that we’d probably need some pet names.”

 

She looked at him, dumbfounded, “Why?”

 

He blushed, “W-well, I mean wouldn’t it seem strange for two… uh… lovers… to-um, address each other by their full name.”

 

She thought to herself, “...I guess...what do you have in mind?”

 

“...I don’t know. I was kinda hoping you’d have some ideas.”

 

“Ah, little miss Bourgeois,” a somewhat familiar voice grabbed their attention. They both turned, startled, as the man standing there in an elaborate suit was none other than Gabriel Agreste.

 

“Mister Agreste?” She asked, “I wasn’t aware that you were going to be here.”

 

“Yes, well neither was I until only a few days ago,” He looked around, clearly eyeing for something specific, “I’m not a fan of these types of… gatherings… but it’s part of the job, keeping up with the current happenings within the industry, and events such as these can prove… informative.”

She nodded. Nathanaël became increasingly aware of his out-of-placeness among such high-level professions, and soon Gabriel noticed this as well.

 

“Mister Kurtzberg?” He raised his eyebrow, “Excuse me for asking but why on earth are you attending an event such as this?”

 

He gave a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his neck, “It’s a long story.”

 

Gabriel sighed, “No matter. By the way, would either of you two happen to know where Miss Dupain-Cheng is? I was told she was going to be here.”

 

“Marinette?” Chloé repeated, “Sorry, but she had other plans.”

 

“Damn,” he grumbled to himself, “Well if you find her, tell her I’m still serious about her internship,” he was about to walk away, before quickly turning back to them, his voice quiet and serious, “But if anyone else asks about her, tell them she’s not interested,” with that, he strolled away.

 

“What was that all about?” Nathanaël asked.

 

“Marinette’s name had been bouncing around with some of the big names in the fashion industry,” Chloé said, “While no one’s clamouring for her just yet, she’s on the rise, and Gabriel knows this. He’s just trying to capitalize on the gold mine before anyone else does.”

 

He nodded absentmindedly, his attention turned back on the crowd, “So where’s Patricia?”

 

“I don’t know. That’s what I’m trying to look for.”

 

She scanned the room with a fierce intensity, as if she was soldier looking for their target, though in her case, it might not be too different. Her eyes however only found guest after guest, chatting amongst each other with glasses of Champagne.

 

“Hey Nath, could you grab us some glasses… just so we don’t look out of place?”

 

“Uh… but I don’t drink.”

 

She groaned, “Just get me some water.”

 

He nodded, “I’ll be back. Don’t go anywhere!”

 

She watched him waltz away, admiring the awkward tomato that he is.

 

 _Tomato! That’s a good pet name!_ She thought about it some more. _Though it'd probably be inappropriate in front of Patty. She’d say it’s immature or something._

 

She sighed longingly, unaware of the figures standing right behind her, “Chloé!” The younger blonde jumped, quickly doing a 180 to find the devil herself standing right there, surrounding by her posse of demons. Patricia looked around, an evil grin forming on her face, “So, where’s your boyfriend?”

 

“I-I… he’s getting some drinks…,”

 

“Hmmhmm,” she hummed, unconvinced as her entourage giggled. Patricia did a look over at Chloé’s dress, the young girl becoming slightly self conscious, “What kind of image are you trying to present?”

 

“Huh?”

 

Patricia scoffed, “Your dress. Why on earth are you wearing such a disgusting piece of fabric? Have you no sense of family pride?”

 

_Like your one to talk…_

 

“W-what’s wrong with it?”

 

She sighed, looking over at one of her “friends” with an exasperated look, “What isn’t wrong with it? Such a cheap fabric and a what boring design. But I guess some people can’t look good with more than one color.” Her group of hyenas gave some painfully fake laughter as Chloé was struggling not to sack her right in the face.

 

<>

 

Nathanaël carefully balanced the two glasses of water as he made his way across the large ballroom. When he spotted Chloé, saw her facing off with a pack of older women, one of which getting directly up in her face. He remembered Chloé’s brief description of her nemesis...

 

_Dark blonde hair with a purple strip? Patricia!_

 

He stopped, realizing that Chloé needed his help, and she needed it fast. He took a deep breath, and strolled over to her.

 

<>

 

“Hey beautiful, sorry to keep you waiting.”

 

Chloé froze at the voice. She turned, eyes landing on her pretend boyfriend. The redhead had an odd expression of confidence, fitting in nicely with his slicked back hair. Nathanaël gave her a hidden wink, to which she smiled back. He handed her the glass, before casually resting his around around her lower back. The gesture felt… oddly natural.

 

The redhead turned back to the woman berating his partner, “Are these girls giving you trouble?”

 

She shook her head, “Not at all.” Chloé leaned closer to Nathanaël, partly because of how she wanted to really sell their fake relationship. Another reason, however, was because of how safer she felt.

 

This gesture didn’t go unnoticed by the artist, as he felt her grip on his arm tighten. Realizing that Chloé was clearly distressed, he decided that he needed a way to get her out of there.

 

“I’m sorry,” Patricia introduced herself, “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

 

“Oh… uh I’m Nathanaël.”

 

She put her hand on her hip, “You can call me Madame Bourgeois.”

 

He chuckled, “Sorry but that name’s already taken. I’ve already got a Madame Bourgeois,” He looked back at the blond, making sure that she was following his league. She rolled her eyes but held a smile. Nathanaël made sure that the others were watching, “Though I’m confident Bourgeois will change soon.”

 

She released a little giggle, “Oh you romantic.”

 

“Only when I’m around you, babe.”

 

Patricia cleared her throat, and the two fake (supposedly) lovebirds turned back towards them, “Well, um… Nathan…”

 

“Nathanaël.”

 

“I suppose since your Chloé’s boyfriend, you could lend a voice in the matter.”

 

He raised his eyebrow, “Huh?”

 

She sighed, “Her dress, what sane man would let their woman dress in such trashy colors?”

 

Oh the nerve on this woman. He had to keep himself from practically growling like a vicious animal. Chloé desperately tried to keep him from blowing up, but Nathanaël had other plans.

 

He stepped forward, scoffing, “You’re one to talk.” She looked at him, confused, “I mean, are you seriously just projecting because your own designer was drunk?”

 

Her eyes narrowed at him.

 

“What? Yellow, Purple, and Green? What the hell are you trying to convey, Easter?” One of her posse members snorted. Her hands clenched into painful fists. He returned to the blonde, another sinister idea popping into his head, “Say, Patty, where’s _your_ boyfriend?”

 

She didn’t respond.

 

“Oh, so that’s how it is? I’m not really surprised. I guess a guy would have to be a masochist to fall for you.” He swore he could see the veins popping out of her head. The women behind her were dead silent.

 

He leaned down, giving a peck on Chloé’s cheek. This time, Chloé’s brain failed to determine what was and wasn’t acting. Her breathing halted as her blush grew. Nathanaël too realized how overboard they went, and decided to find a way to sneak her out.

 

“Well, sorry ladies, but we’re needed elsewhere,” he shifted closer to her, “C’mon, let’s ditch these losers.” Together, they waltzed off, leaving behind a pissed off Patricia and her speechless audience.

 

<>

 

The two stood silently next to each other on the balcony, both observing the bustling nightlife of Paris. He turned to look at her, the glow of the city illuminating her smooth features, “Chloé?”

 

She looked at him, clearly taken out of deep thought, “Huh?”

 

“How are you feeling? Want to sneak out, now?”

 

“Nah,” She looked back out towards the city, “Patricia would count that as a victory.”

 

They continued staring at the skyline, both content with each other’s presence, before Nathanaël started up again, “Why does she have such a vendetta with you?”

 

Chloé bit her lip, “Family drama. Money scandals. Power struggles. The usual.”

 

He chuckled, “You say that as if it’s a regular occurrence.”

 

She shrugged, “In my family, it kinda is.”

 

Nathanaël frowned, “You sure you don’t want to ditch this place?”

 

“No, I’m good, I promise, besides, Ladybug and Chat Noir are going to show up, soon.”

  
  
“Well, if that’s the case, let’s head inside. I don’t want you to catch another cold and throw up on my shirt again.”

 

Chloé groaned as they strolled back inside, neither of the two aware that they were still holding hands, despite the fact that no one else was nearby.

 

<>

 

When they arrived back inside, the once uptight professionals were flocking together, all trying to talk over each other as the original heroes of Paris themselves stood at the center of the room. Ladybug and Chat Noir were desperately trying to calm the crowd that had swarmed them, with none other than Patricia leading the pack.

 

By the time Chloé and Nathanaël had made it to the crowd, everyone had quieted down, with Patricia speaking.

 

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I’m pleased to introduce the wonderful duo, Ladybug and Chat Noir!”

 

They clapped in response as Ladybug smiled and waved, clearly not a fan of speeches or parties.

 

“I’m also happy to announce our new collaboration with Ladybug and her sidekick in our new summer line!”

 

As the audience applauded and cheered, Chat had to keep himself from laughing as the spotted heroine growled. Other than Hawkmoth, the one thing she hated most in the world was how people thought of Chat as nothing more than a sidekick.

 

Patricia continued with her speech, “This summer, we’ll be introducing a complete overhaul with Ladybug sponsored fashion and accessories!”

 

The applause grew louder and Chloé finally realized why Patricia was even in Paris in the first place. In fairness, it was a smart move on her part, as a sponsorship with both Ladybug and Chat Noir could generate Billions. However, she frowned at the notion that the two heroes were now in it for the money and just the money.

 

Nathanaël looked over to her, realizing just how hard she must be taking it. Her own icons shaking hands with her most hated rival. It must feel like a punch in the gut.

 

He grasped her hand, Chloé barely acknowledging the move, as he leaned into her ear, “Wanna get out of here?” She nodded silently, and with an unexpected amount of grace, he looped his arm around her back, and the two snuck out from the crowd.

 

Ladybug was scanning the room until she caught sight of a distinct blonde and redhead heading for the exit. Her eyes widened, as she realized that she need to act quickly.

 

“... so let’s hear it for Ladybug!” The audience clapped once again as the super heroine reached for the microphone, “...Oh, it seems the lady of the hour would like to say a few words!”

 

She snatched the microphone and as the crowd died down, she took a deep breath, “I-I’m sorry Miss Bourgeois, but…,” she paused, going over the lines she had rehearsed through earlier, “... due to recent scandals regarding your company… my… uh… legal team has advised me to cancel the contract.”

 

The room was dead silent, Chloé not believing what she had just heard.

 

Patricia was dead pale, her mouth opening and closing but no words coming out. Finally, she spoke in a shaky but angry tone, “Y-you already signed the contract! You can’t just renege on the deal!”

 

Ladybug cleared her breath, “I’m sorry, Patricia,” a few gasps at merely calling her by her first name, “But on page 1 under article 9, under subsection A, it clearly defines a waiting period of thirty days,” she paused, “... I still have noon tomorrow to cancel. It seems you celebrated a little too early.”

 

The tension in the room was so thick, you could cut it with a knife. Chat Noir, realizing just how intense the rabid journalists were going to get, quickly took the mike from his partner, “Thank you and have a great evening!” he leaned over, “Let’s get out of here Bugaboo!”

 

She nodded as the two sprinted across the room, the crowd going up into a frenzy. Once Ladybug and Chat Noir had escaped off the balcony, the sharks turned their attention to Patricia, who was dead silent standing in the middle of the room, all to excited too rip her to shreds.

 

With that, Nathanaël lead Chloé outside, getting her away from Patricia or the crowd’s wrath. As they were rushing outside, he silently thanked the heroes of Paris, promising to himself that he would make it up to them later.

 

<>

 

So with Patty in tears, the tabloids ready to rip her to shreds, Chloé was definitely upbeat. For the first time that week, her shoulders didn’t feel like they were ice. She finally felt relaxed and calm, and now she was more curious as to what Nathanaël had planned for her.

 

She had received his message shortly after he left and it was horribly vague.

 

_Bring the box from your butler and come over to my house._

 

_Also, no peeking._

 

She was confused at first until her butler, usually busy tending to other people at the hotel, knocked on her door. In his hands was a large cardboard box professionally taped closed. Being the honorable (mostly) human being that she was, Chloé didn’t dare look inside. She grabbed her coat and called her driver, and suddenly she was racing across the streets of Paris.

 

Finally, her limo parked outside the quaint house, and she stepped out into the cold night. Nathanaël was waiting for her at his door, so once she waved off her driver, she cautiously approached.

 

Many thoughts were running through her head, none of them good. Nathanaël would definitely try to get back at her for forcing him into something like tonight. The evil grin on his face didn’t suede that. His hair was soaking wet and he had clearly washed out the gel, returning it back to it’s annoying messy state.

 

“Good evening miss Bourgeois…,” he said in a fake suave voice.

 

She groaned, “What have you got planned for me Nath?”

 

“Oh just repayment… follow me…”

 

He lead her back into his cozy home, most of the lights turned off. They wandered through the dark hallway, Chloé holding the box tightly to her chest, until they reached the living room.

 

“Open it.”

 

She raised an eyebrow, but did as he said. She pulled open the cardboard to reveal… clothes. More specifically, her clothes. Her pajama pants folded up nicely, “What…?”

 

She looked back at Nathanaël, just now realizing that he too was wearing pajama pants, “Well, I think Patricia tried to steal this Friday night from you, so I’d thought that I’d give it back. How about a sleep over?”

 

“Wha-... I-... surely my Father wouldn’t allow-,”

 

“Mister Bourgeois was the first person I cleared it out with, followed by your butler,” his grin grew, “I also talked to your driver, so he will be waiting to pick you up anytime tomorrow morning.”

 

“N-Nath… I don’t know what to say…”

 

The sound of microwave beeping interrupted her thoughts. The redhead darted down the hallway, “Bathroom’s first door on the right. Get changed and I’ll put the movie on!”

 

She watched him turn around the corner, before walking into the tiny bathroom. Pollen flew out of her bag, and for a brief moment the two just stared at each other, Chloé waiting for her to comment on the situation.

 

The little bee gave a small smile, “I think he’s a keeper.”

 

When Chloé came back to the living room, now sporting black pajama pants and a loose grey shirt, Nathanaël was on the couch waiting for her. Large blankets and pillows covered the couch from end to end. On the coffee table was a huge bowl of freshly microwaved popcorn, the aroma wafting throughout the room.

 

He looked at her, her golden hair flowing free of it’s ponytail and resting down her shoulders. She yawned and stretched, her arms pulling up her shirt, briefly exposing her navel and her smooth lower stomach to the redhead. His cheeks immediately went red at catching yet one more sight of her bare skin, and awkwardly looked away.

 

Chloé sat down next to the artist, “So, what are we watchin’?”

 

“Well… I wanted something that you especially would enjoy,” he hit the play button on the remote, “And after a bit of searching, I think I found a movie right up your alley.”

 

As the opening logos play, Chloé began to recognize the music, before the image landed on a single title: _Waterloo_

 

For a brief moment, the blonde forgot where she was. She forgot that she wasn’t back at the hotel, in front of blood-thirsty elite industry leaders. She forgot that she no longer had to pretend that she was, in fact, happy to be one of them, and was a hip modern icon. She forgot that she didn’t have to hide the fact that yes, Chloé Bourgeois was a nerdy history buff who could recite nearly every historical classic line for line.

 

She realized that she was only in the presence of Nathanaël, which meant she could be as nerdy as she wanted and could admit that she did indeed love this very film, as she had watched it upwards of dozens upon dozens of times.

 

Nathanaël reached over for the light switched, clearly amused at Chloé’s pure unbridled enjoyment. She turned to him, expecting a wide ass remark or tease, “What’s the catch?”

 

“The catch...,” He laid himself back on his side of the couch, “...is that you enjoy yourself.”

 

The blonde silently thought to herself, a mix of emotions swirling through her, “Hey Nath?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

Chloé looked at him, her deep blue eyes on the verge of tears getting lost in his teal, “Thanks Nath… really,”

 

“Chloé?”

 

She hastily turned her face away, wiping away the unintended tears, “S-Sorry…”

 

“Chloé? Please, what’s wrong?”

 

She sniffed quietly, a sad smile on her face, “It’s nothing, Nath. Just…,” she paused, unsure of whether to tell the truth or to lie through her teeth. Looking up at the redhead, she found his expression intense and full of worry, “... it’s… my mom…, I use to watch this movie with her… I was really young… I barely remember it…,” she sighed, looking down, willing her tears not to fall, “...I miss her…”

 

She expected him to pry further, to force more information out of her, for her to reveal the entire traumatizing story one more time. But instead, Nathanaël silently crawled over to her. His arms wrapped around her skinny frame. Chloé was stunned by the hug, but soon enough, she had responded back, his arms looping around his strong back. The intoxicating scent of her hair filled his nostrils as she pressed her face into his chest as quiet sobs wracked her body.

 

The redhead held her in a protective embrace until she began to calm down. Her shaking began to subside, replaced with her sniffling. Her bloodshot eyes looked up back at his, and tenderly, she pulled from his grasp. He released his hold, and quietly the two separated.

 

“S-sorry…”

 

“You don’t have to apologize,” He gave her a small smile and once she gave him one back, he finally relaxed on the couch. She pulled up the ridiculous amount of blankets at her side of the couch, wrapping herself in her own little beehive. He giggled at her cute appearance.

 

Nathanaël pulled out the bowl of popcorn, throwing a couple pieces in his mouth, before offering it to the blonde.

 

“Want some?”

 

She looked at it, ready to decline, until she remembered the pizza incident, so she reluctantly nodded. He held the bowl in front of her and she grabbled a few kernels before popping them into her mouth. The buttery taste hit immediately as the greasy food’s taste took hold of her mouth.

 

“Like it?”

 

She turned, faking a look of scorn, “It’s pretty overrated.”

 

He laughed and then pressed play. The movie started up and, as he hoped, Chloé’s nerdy alter-ego took over.

 

_“Can you believe this was shot in Ukraine in 1970? I don’t how Marshal Soult is in this scene when in real life, he was all the way at Toulouse. Y’know, most of these extras were played by Soviet Soldiers and had to go through real Napoleonic era training.”_

 

Nathanaël merely nodded at her cute enthusiastic rambling, more interesting in her facial expressions than the movie itself. But eventually, she began to wear herself out, her eyelids feeling heavy and the tug of sleep became harder to fight.

 

The artist had gotten up to get some water and by the time he had gotten back, she was out cold.

 

He looked down at her cute expression, a mix of comfort and warmth. Suddenly, a moment earlier that day flashed back into his head.

 

“Chloé Kurtzberg,” He whispered the name to himself, “Huh… that has a nice ring to it.”

 

<>

 

Soon, Nathanaël had joined Chloé in the comfort of sleep. Despite falling asleep on the other side of the couch from the blonde, the artist, in a quest for warmth, had unconsciously crawled to her. Now, with his arms wrapped around her slender waist, Chloé’s unconscious self had also decided to get closer and in her sleep, she clung to him possessively, with one hand resting on his chest and the other deep in his soft messy red hair.

 

The two snuggled tightly together, Nathanaël’s impossibly strong arms holding her near. Blankets and pillows wrapped around them in an odd fashion, like a nest of heat.

 

He had fallen asleep about two thirds into the movie, not realizing just how exhausted he really was. The bowl of popcorn lay abandoned, the TV still flashing as not even the sounds of the loud battle scene could stir either of them from their slumber.

 

Chloé, unaware of her actions, dug her face into the crook of his neck, breathing in the smell of… him. The scent that was, somehow, distinctly Nathanaël. Not potent or intense, but calming and subtle. She sighed happily in her sleep, clearly comforted by his presence.

 

Nathanaël, despite being on an uncomfortable couch with a blonde pushing right up against his body, was having the most peaceful rest he had experienced in months. No worrying thoughts or horrifying nightmares, instead replaced by simple dreams of painting and blonde hair and history nerds.

 

The movie began to draw to a close as the final haunting scene, etched in Chloé’s brain, quietly took center stage in the otherwise quiet room.

 

_Napoleon stands in a field of mud and corpses, as the dripping of rain turns him from the once great Leader to nothing more than a lost child. Around him lay the bodies of his folly, foolish soldiers fighting for his selfish throne._

 

_The moon peeks beyond the clouds of ash, the fields becoming visible in a sickly shade of blue, revealing to him the true extent of his greed._

 

_He looks up, to find his marshals, the very ones who had followed him to the ends of the earth years before, now looking at him with complete and utter disdain. They stood out of the mud like statues, face pale and expressions cold._

 

_“We will chain you… like Prometheus… to a rock, where the memory of your own greatness will gnaw you…”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun duuun!
> 
> I'm really surprised at how few fics about Chloe touch upon her mother and more specifically, her absence. So I decided to make some hints towards it, though I guarantee that it isn't based off of any cannon.
> 
> Also, on a side note, check out the movie Waterloo from 1970. It's such a good movie and has some awesome battle sequences where they literally filmed Thousands of actual soldiers duking it out 1815 attire. It's a shame that the film hasn't been converted to a Blu-Ray release, so the only way to get your hands on it is to watch the DVD copy. But even still, it's a blast to watch. I recommend it to anyone, even if you aren't a history nerd.


End file.
